We were 42

My mantra, my compelling reason … Gilda Radner’s story was a bonus.  Thank you Joanna Bull for this invention … “I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next.”

Gilda as expected was not  as brilliant as compared to most established and prolific novelists.  But her  spontaneity, honesty and sincerity  brings you to the exact threshold of pain, angst, mortality, her clinginess to hope, positivism, life, love, fame, and how quick she melts down when face to face with reality .   Her ovarian cancer  metastasized, and most likely she will die from it, really really soon.  Afraid to leave the life she adores and just not about ready to be given up and everything in it --- and may be,the lack of memory of it, in her life beyond, and lives left behind without her. To this day, cancer remains to massacre the human spirit.  And Gene Wilder, the love of her life, re-married, two years after her passing.  Life goes on …

I was 19 years old, when Gilda Radner, 42 years,  slipped into a coma and never woke up.  She had cancer, fought it fiercely, but eventually killed her.

I still write my pages. Impatient with an ending, a story i don't even know how to begin again. This Sunday, I will be 43.




***a no nonsense review of my recently finished, It's Always Something by Ms. Gilda Radner ... this Friday, I'm running to a bookstore nearest to my office, and grab my next cover :)

http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/523469837    --- of course, it's in my goodreads :)  ... goodreads.com/irmavanta