Sunday, March 6, 2011

The world lost last week

Last week, we became one bright spark dimmer. One always-friendly face less. An embodiment of sweetness & kindness, now gone. The boathouse, dock, and river will be lonelier. An unfinished life now finished.

Last week, the world lost Ann Fitzgerald.

***

I don't think we ever get used to death, unless perhaps we live in a war zone. Long illness might help us brace ourselves a little more, but if we don't know about the illness, the news comes as much of a shock as a sudden accident.

And death, and its accompanying emotions of surprise and grief, also become puzzling for me when the person wasn't a core part of my life. It's still a loss. There's still grieving. But I find myself not knowing just how to react when the loss is a lighter shade of gray -- not an all-out blackout as when it's someone near & dear, not a pale gray as when it's a celebrity or someone distantly known and the loss is more theoretical or intellectual. It's all those shades of grey in between that get perplexing.

***

I'm not at the boathouse often these days while the river is still frozen, but I was there yesterday, and found Ann very much in my thoughts. As the ice starts to break up over the water, and rowers' water time is fast approaching, I feel her loss & absence. For a purely recreational sculler, too shy or unsure of her ability to come to the coached sessions, she was braver than I when it came to going out in cold & wind. But she'd never gone into the basin w/ its nearly ever-present windy, choppy conditions, so one time we took a 2x into the basin. It was a gorgeous day, the sky a brilliant blue. I find myself cherishing that memory, that first, I was able to give her.

Going for my weekly volunteering last week, tho I haven't seen her all school year, I find myself cast back to last year when I saw her every week. We'd usually meet in the Trader Joe's parking lot & walk over to the school, chatting about her pottery classes or my jobless/freelancing state. She'd always ask how I was doing, how it was coming. She was always positive & encouraging. Afterward, we'd often head over to the boathouse for a row or maybe an erg, b/c our schedules allowed it.

I never knew she was sick, let alone that it was cancer. I don't know how long she knew, either.

Casting about for some way to honor & memorialize her, perhaps looking for something concrete to mark the loss?, I received an email about a fundraising event for fighting cancer, this year open to rowers for the first time. Not really a competitive event, you can choose the distance, up to 20 miles, & boat size, from a single to an eight. I think she'd love it. I think she'd have wanted to do it. I'll do it for her, wishing I could do it with her instead.

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