Over the years, I’ve blogged several times about Sass, my next door neighbor for 33 years. During that length of time, we built a strong bond, in spite of our differences. Born in London and raised in South Africa, she and her husband immigrated to Canada and then to the US. I marveled at her vocabulary–so many new English words and expressions, but after while I found myself using “dreadful” and “bloody” regularly. Our personalities were polar opposites–she was not warm, generous, or giving. She couldn’t be bothered learning people’s names, even though we played trivia with them every week. She was highly-opinionated and never knew when to back down or walk away from an argument. Hence, I nicknamed her, Sass. But our labels didn’t end there; we also referred to ourselves as Thelma and Louise.

In our 33-year friendship, Sass’s loyalty was unwavering. She’d graciously be the donor of a cup of sugar or an egg in a recipe emergency. She’d come on-demand and remove a snake from my yard. On the morning, I found my beloved, Roxy, pup dead under a tree, she helped me get the body into a box and accompanied me to the emergency vet for cremation. She became a strong supporter of children, particularly those in the arts and in alternative education. Further, we shared a love for dogs, gambling and politics; we spent numerous nights on my patio solving the problems of the world over cans of beer. As an atheist, she had very strong views about organized religion and its effects on followers.

Seven years ago, Sass had a heart attack. Four years later, pancreatic cancer surgery. And just as her chemotherapy ended, she had another heart attack–so severe she had to have open heart surgery. After that recovery, that sneaky ba@#$^d pancreatic cancer returned with vengeance. After enduring several months of a clinical trial, all hope was lost. During this very arduous ordeal, Sass never complained; she was not maudlin, nor weepy. She accepted her fate valiantly and with dignity, even though her frame resembled that of a concentration camp prisoner.

A week before she died, I went over to sit with her while her husband was at work. She said simply, “Sue, it’s over.”

I sat down next to her and took her hand: “No, it’s NOT! Thelma, don’t crap out on me. I love you. You’re beyond time, and you’ll live forever in my heart.”

A weak smile crossed her face. “I love you.”

As I stood at her bed and saw her corpse, I mumbled, “Oh, Thelma. Forever my partner in crime–Ride or Die.”