“The woman who cherished
her suffering is dead. I am her descendant.
I love the scar-tissue she handed on to me,
but I want to go on from here with you
fighting the temptation to make a career of pain.
– Stanza VIII from Adrienne Rich’s “Twenty-One Love Poems”
Judy and Me in 2009 at AAC
Judy passed away this evening. I want to craft a wonderful post in her honor, yet I am at a loss for words. My heart aches. Tears fall. I think of Nate and Frank. I think of the powerhouse of a woman I met in Cleveland years ago. I muse over how I expected her to be tall. Yet when she arrived at my hotel room, a tiny bouncy sprite of a woman, bursting with love and energy stood in front of me. Nothing like I imagined. She was more, better, brighter, funnier and more loving than her online voice ever gave hint of.
Rest in peace my friend. You will be missed.
Tonight, because I do these random things, I googled my daughters birth name.
What a shock to find this posting from the Chicago Tribune Archives – online!
I have no memory of writing to the Tribune. I had no idea if it was published, I am guessing it was.
But, oh, god, how my naivete, my koolaid drunken, aching state is obvious. I feel shaky and sick reading it.
Merry Christmas, Wherever You Are.