For Cindy from Little Man


If time were not a moving thing

And I could make it stay,

This hour of love we share would always be…

There’d be no coming day

To shine a morning light

To make us realize our night is over.

It’s over.

——Jimmie Rodgers, 1966

I lost a good friend today.  I lost a friend who greeted me with a smile and hug and kiss every time I saw her.  I lost a friend who had a quick wit and droll sense of humor and made me laugh whenever we were together which was, in the last few years, not often.

She came into my life twelve years ago through her love of one of my oldest and dearest friends in Columbia: Millie Miller.  MM and I go way, way back to my first years in South Carolina in the 1970s.  We have seen the good, the bad and the ugly in each other’s lives and our friendship managed to survive.  That’s not easy these days.

Cindy told great stories about her life before Millie and could entertain a living room full of people lucky enough to be eating one of her home-cooked New Year’s Day meals.  Black-eyed peas.  Collard greens.  Corn bread.  Fried chicken.  The girl could cook.

From the first time I met her until the last time I saw her, she called me Little Man.  Hi Little Man, how you doing?  Hey Little Man, what you been up to?  Little Man, you need to come see us more.  We miss you.  I can truthfully say she is the only person on earth who ever called me by that name.  Why Little Man?  She would only say that I looked like a little man to her.  Enough said.

Teresa’s favorite Cindy memory today was from a night a group of a dozen lesbians went to an Italian restaurant for someone’s birthday.  Neither of us could remember whose birthday it was, but both of us remembered Cindy’s hilarious performance of pretending to sing Happy Birthday in Italian at the top of her lungs with the waiters who really were singing in Italian and appeared totally undone by the woman who joined them.  Unforgettable moments.  Memory makers, as my mother used to say.

Time is a moving thing and none of us can make it stay. The last few years were difficult ones for Cindy who faced many adversities in her life, but she never had to face them alone.  Millie was with her every step of the way.  Eventually, for all of us, the night is over, and we say goodbye to our favorite people.  Cindy Driggers was one of mine.

About Sheila Morris

Sheila Morris is an essayist with humorist tendencies and a passion for photojournalism. She has published four nonfiction books including two memoirs, an essay collection and a collection of her favorite blogs from I'll Call It Like I See It. She has been blogging for seven years as her alter ego, The Red Man, her rescued Welsh terrier but now is reduced to writing as herself since the Red Man left Casa de Canterbury for good in February of 2016. She is a displaced Texan living in South Carolina with her wife Teresa Williams and their dogs Spike and Charly.
This entry was posted in Humor, Lesbian Literary, Life, Personal, Random, Reflections, Slice of Life, The Way Life Is and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

11 Responses to For Cindy from Little Man

  1. Pingback: For Cindy from Little Man | I'll Call It Like I See It

  2. Aw, Sheila, I’m so sorry. Cindy sounds like one of those friends who could turn a bad day into heaven. All my love to you and Teresa.

    Hugs,
    Ann

    Like

  3. I’m so sorry for your loss. She sounds like a fantastic lady.

    Like

  4. Sheila, I’m so sorry for the loss of your friend. You’ve written her a lovely tribute.

    Like

  5. boblamb says:

    Another good one, girl. Timely, too, for me. My old college friend, an actor who lives in L.A., is fighting for his life tonight. We go back a long, long way together. I pray the night is not over for him just yet. .

    Like

  6. Anne Boring says:

    Sheila, I know it was a blow to you. And very, very sad. I know what it is to lose someone special. Life is so hard !!!! I’m sorry, I truly am.

    Like

    • Anne,
      Thank you so very much for your heartfelt words of sympathy. It was very, very sad, and life gets harder as we get older, I think. I don’t know why I am surprised by that. I keep wondering why we ever called our last years golden?
      Take care. Love to all the family,
      Sheila

      Like

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