Gina and I had known each other since 1981. She was a year younger than
me. We spent a lot of time together over the years.
In 1990 I moved to Champaign, but we still kept in touch.
In 1994 she and her husband Neal moved to Eau Claire, and we lost track
of each other.
I finally was able to get ahold of her again in 2004, after acquiring
her phone number off the Web. She was overjoyed to hear from me. The
timing of the call turned out to be fortuitous--she had been suffering
for years from chronic migraines, and had very few good days. The day I
called, luckily, was one of them. We talked for nearly three hours.
During the following year I tried to call her repeatedly, with no
success. Her migraines were taking their toll, and in her condition she
had no patience for phone conversations, so I found out.
A year ago I tried to find her number, but discovered it had been
rendered unlisted.
Last night, for reasons inexplicable, I attempted again to get her
number off the Web, hoping maybe she and Neal had made it available once
more.
Instead, I found her obituary.
She was 47 years old. The article stated she'd died "unexpectedly" on
December 14, 2007.
Which means last night was the six-month anniversary of her passing.
We had so many fine, special, enjoyable times together. But right now I
can't remember a one of them.
And once again I feel another part of me missing. Just as I've missed
her company for years. And now, I find, will miss it for the rest of my
days.
Goodbye, Gina. I always loved you, and still do.
* * * * * * * * *
And another regrettable thing about death
is the ceasing of your own brand of magic,
which took a whole life to develop and market--
the quips, the witticisms, the slant
adjusted to a few, those loved ones nearest
the lip of the stage, their soft faces blanched
in the footlight glow, their laughter close to tears,
their tears confused with their diamond earrings,
their warm pooled breath in and out with your heartbeat,
their response and your performance twinned.
The jokes over the phone. The memories
packed in the rapid-access file. The whole act.
Who will do it again? That’s it: no one;
imitators and descendants aren’t the same.
--John Updike
* * * * * * * * *
The deep pain that is felt at the death of every friendly soul arises
from the feeling that there is in every individual something which is
inexpressible, peculiar to him alone, and is, therefore, absolutely and
*irretrievably* lost.
--Arthur Schopenhauer
* * * * * * * * *
If I should ever leave you whom I love
To go along the Silent Way, grieve not,
Nor speak of me with tears, but laugh and talk
Of me as if I were beside you there.
(I'd come--I'd come, could I but find a way!
But would not tears and grief be barriers?)
And when you hear a song or see a bird
I loved, please do not let the thought of me
Be sad...For I am loving you just as
I always have...You were so good, to me!
There are so many things I wanted still
To do--so many things to say to you...
Remember that I did not fear...It was
Just leaving you that was so hard to face...
We cannot see Beyond...But this I know:
I loved you so--'twas heaven here with you!
--Isla Paschal Richardson
* * * * * * * * *
Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle: she died young.
--John Webster
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