I turned sixty a while back. A while back like eight years ago when a  lump made its home in the back of my throat. The lump doesn’t go away. It’s just hanging around back there with Dr. Molbert’s nineteen sixties fillings he designed himself that are hanging on for dear life. It’s a lump that never leaves me alone. The lump is on call forever.

I’m reading a book on grief to see if that helps but the lump grows larger and larger until I finally let it loose because it’s painful in so many ways, but not as painful as when the lump and the tears are forced out in such a pitifully ugly sob that won’t go away until I just wear it and me out. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had a beautiful life, and still do, even though those old bumps in the road paid me a few visits. 

My memories have me by the short hair. I sometimes wish I didn’t have so many that live inside me, but then as Garth says, “Then I would’ve missed the dance,” and what a dance it was. By the way, the lump is with me as I share this with you. Brother Bo and I miss our sister. There’s a hole in our hearts that will never go away. Gone are the three of us…Cindy, Phyllis, and Bo. And then there were two, just like that!

PHYLLIS BELANGER MATA was born at the old Dauterive Hospital and grew up on Wayne Street. She is a 1974 graduate of Mt. Carmel Academy and is a chili dog “without the wiener” aficionado.