Pat's Last Vote

Pat was a pistol!  She rallied the troops at the senior community where she lived to sign petitions so that alcohol flowed at the monthly functions.  She loved QVC and ordered so many shoes her closet was overflowing.  She cursed like a sailor, had a sexy, smoky voice and loved the song “Somewhere Over The Rainbow.”

Father Frances comes every Sunday to say mass at this community.  Pat, in her words, “went all Thorn Birds,” and developed quite the crush on the retired priest.  She took the jacket he left behind one winter day, reasoning that he would have to come to her apartment to get it and that was her chance to get him alone.    She cackled with glee about her plan and kidded about finally having her own Rachel Warde/Richard Chamberlain afternoon of passion.

He never did get his jacket, and she never got her fantasy afternoon.  She grew ill from pancreatic cancer and fought a valiant fight to the end.    Even on her deathbed, Pat had something to say.  A few days before she lapsed into a coma, weak and feeble from her illness, Pat discussed her voting choices for the coming election.  She stressed the importance of her votes. She told her family that she received a mail ballot but “Couldn’t remember where she put that f*&&^%$ thing.”

We all came to say goodbye.  Father Frances came and even though Pat was in a deep coma, her eyebrow raised and she managed a smile when he came to her bed.  We all laughed hard at that! 

Her children found the ballot.  Even though Pat died a week before the election, they broke the law, filled in her choices and dropped it off.   And she voted!  Her voice counted!   

 I feel that you have to sell your soul to the devil to win an office.  I am jaded about the whole thing.  I missed a few elections.  To be honest, I didn’t even start voting until well into my twenties.  I appreciate it because of Pat.  I swear I hear her cigarette voice every time I vote.    Thanks, Pat.   

If happy little Bluebirds fly…………