Without spoiling, The Big Sick hit home. It took me three tries to watch. Thankfully, though it runs to the edge of sentimental, not over. Thankfully, because so many scenes were so us, even before she gets sick, that I cried like an infant. It was touching, not heart-wrenching to my usual yelling at God, except at one point that was just too close.
Amidst the illness, it’s very funny, and reminiscent of Phyl . But not her laugh. She laughed with her whole being. The soundtrack of my life. Bubbling up from inside, full-out, loud, raucus, and infectious. No chuckle or giggle, or snicker. She didn’t even do that polite laugh when someone tells a cute story, or shows you a picture of their grandbaby or dog or new selfie.
Smiling was an always. You’ll not find a photo wherein she doesn’t have that huge, gorgeous smile. It was natural: she didn’t put it on. Though hello would beget the best smile in the history of mankind, it wasn’t laughter. For Phyllis, it was all out or nothing. Even that last Friday, the afternoon before coma, she was laughing much of the day with Ann, Judy, and earlier Beverly.
She always loved living, though not always her life. That’s on me. Still, I always told her I loved watching the most beautiful girl in the world, and I adored hearing her laugh. And it was so charismatic and infectious that everyone around felt good when Phyl was the audience.
I regret now I don’t drink, because, when with me, she seldom did. When she did, and had the spot, she was hysterically funny. But with no ego, she never wanted the spotlight, so that was too rare. (part one)