Stars

Once upon a time, there were a couple of dozen women who lived and worked in Austin, Texas. Most of them were lawyers, but not all. Most of them were about the same age – born in the late 50s or early 60s – but not all. Most were white, but not all. Most of them had spouses or partners, but not all. Most of them were moms to children, pets, or both, but not all.

What these women did have in common, though, was way more important than what they didn’t. They were all smart, funny, progressive, and politically aware. They had too much on their plates and got too little sleep. They all worked for equity and justice for marginalized folks. They read a lot, laughed a lot, and got angry at the crap going on in the world a lot. And, perhaps most importantly, they all loved good food and good wine to go with it.

Thus was born a dinner group that’s lasted for over a quarter of a century. We – for I’ve been privileged to be a part of this amazing group since its inception – go by the unlikely name of the Stellas. One of our members proposed the name because it was what Australians call women. Of course we had nothing to do with Australia, and actually Australians call women “Sheilas” instead of “Stellas,” (and Sheila is apparently not a compliment when they do), but the name stuck. And we’ve been the Stellas ever since. It fits, really; Stella mean star, and these women are stars in my firmament.

As you can imagine, given the amount of time we’ve been together, our lives have evolved substantially over the years. We’ve changed jobs, moved, and run for political office (sometimes successfully, sometimes not). We’ve acquired and lost relationship partners. We’ve seen hopeful and hateful political swings. We’ve welcomed children and grandchildren and mourned the deaths of the children of a couple of the Stellas and many of our parents. We’ve eaten more salads and cheese and casseroles and hearty soups and crusty bread loaves than I can count, and we’ve drunk enough wine to keep a small vineyard in business for a year or so. Our evenings together made all of those changes and challenges easier to bear or celebrate, depending on what was appropriate.

And now we’re dying.

The two women in the picture are already gone. Vivian, on left, died from aplastic anemia five years ago. Ana, on the right, died from cancer about a year and a half ago. And I got word this afternoon that another Stella, Susan, died of cancer a few hours ago. I miss them all like I would miss an arm that got cut off. These women are not just a part of my life, they’re a part of me. And they are gone.

I’m grieving now. Time will help the hurt, and I know, as Tennyson said, that though much is taken, much abides. But I ache for these beautiful women who should have had at least another 20 years of Stella’s Suppers – and grandchildren and travels and books and hugs and all the joys that life can bring. And to borrow from another brilliant writer, Shakespeare, my heart is in the graves with them. And I must pause till it come back to me.