Shawn's special talent of being a friend

See you later, VBS

Some years back, Shawn Lang, Catherine Blinder and I discovered that we all grew up poor. We found this out during a long meal in which we shared more than we meant to share about our childhoods. At least, I did, and I was stone-cold sober while doing so, silly me.

Only after we stopped trying to one-up each another about our intimate knowledge of government cheese did we decide to give our group a name, and make those meals — mostly cooked by Catherine, a former restaurant owner, and Shawn, a damn good cook in her own right — a fixture.

Over the years, the Velveeta Bitches rotated between houses, and each time we sat for hours catching one another up on new loves and old dogs.

When she wasn’t running a restaurant, Catherine (whose bonafides include once living on a commune) worked in and around the state government and knew literally everybody. Shawn was an activist to her core. She rattled cages over AIDS, homelessness, domestic violence, LGBTQI rights, you name it. Everyone in and around the state capitol knew her for her dogged and compassionate advocacy for vulnerable people. It wasn’t just Connecticut, though. Her reputation was nationwide. I believe I was included in the group for comedy relief, which was fortunate because we discovered we shared a taste for the absurd, which made those gatherings loud and funny. I remember one particularly brutal came of Cards Against Humanity where…never mind. You had to be there.

Shawn had a lot of skills, but she was especially adept at being a friend. She remembered the stories you told. She asked about family members by name. She offered to research family genealogy (a pastime of hers) if you got stuck. She loved making intricate meals that took days to prepare. She also loved Ireland, the Red Sox, her son, and singing. She had the voice of an angel.

I had to read yesterday’s text twice to make sure I understood it: Shawn had died unexpectedly at home. That made no sense because Shawn was the kind of person I thought would live forever, but then, that doesn’t make sense, does it? We all go. We shine for a while and then we go.

Shawn leaves her son, Corbett, and a million friends, all of whom are better off for having known her. Catherine and I will have our own ceremony later, when we catch our breath. For now, someone sent me this poem by Rita Dove, and it’s perfect, especially the last two lines:

Come out of your houses drumming. All others, 
beware: I have discarded my smile but not my teeth.

All I know right now is this: Velveeta Bitches are forever. We honor her life by taking up her fight. See you later, Shawn.