August 3, 2002
"Laura, The Teacher"
Even so, she was a teacher when it came to her death, as well. Laura had prepared Julia and I as thoroughly as any human could. You see, way back fifteen years ago, when Laura and I first got together, Laura brought up the subject of her possible imminent death. She'd already had a heart attack or two, and the quadruple bypass surgery. She felt it her duty to prepare me for the realities of her health condition.
However, back then, just the very thought of it made me bawl like a baby. At various intervals, she'd bring it up again, and I'd cry. She knew what she was doing. At first, I thought she was cruel, to make me cry like that. But now, it is as though she cried many of the tears with me. And so now, there is not the nearly unbearable crushing heartache that there could have been.
This capacity of Laura as teacher has been noticed by our friends as well. From more impersonal ventures, such as the very educational items she placed within the Metro'on pages, to one on one contacts, she was always seeking to impart what she'd learned in her sixty three years of life.
One of our friends here in Yuma was inspired to write a delightful poem addressing this unique facet of Laura's:
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Look, as she sits over there Flowing and glowing upon her chair Gracing our presence so we may hear Of life, and love, and metaphysical jeers
So I sit here, smile and begin to ponder
Her eyes catch mine, then I begin to see
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And so, her knowledge has indeed been a gift I feel privileged to have had these wonderful fifteen years. And yes, Laura had a way of 'flowing and glowing'. Her smiles were so incandescent, they lit up the area around her like a wide beacon.
BEACON! That word calls to memory an old poem I'd written, long before I'd met Laura, and I'd like to share that now.
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Your face, Beautiful by reason of honesty: Your eyes, bravely, gently, piercing; Thy powerful interior light pierces the darkness Beacon, I find my way to you.
(aka J.C.) Journeys,1978-1984
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How could I have described so well she who I hadn't even met yet? So predestined it was, my heart knew her essence was out there, waiting for me. And it was just that way, her light pierced the dark places of my soul, and I was never the same again.
August 5, 2002
"New Team"
''The cleric leaned over the enert body of Spelldoc, and said sadly, ''I can not resurrect her. Her spirit has moved on. The only thing I can do is arrange for a new spirit to enter her body. She would be as known in some circles as a 'walk-in'. She would have a different personality than she did before, for she would be a different person. Would you like that?''Kaaldar leaned over his love, unsure of what to do. What lovely fighting days he and Spelldoc had shared! They were a well-oiled machine. Spelldoc would make herself invisible, and use her tracking skills to find and bring the prey to Kaaldar. He'd weaken the monster's magical resistance, slow down it's attack speed, while Spelldoc lowered its armor class and put a slow damage on it called 'stinging swarm'. Kaaldar's pet, with enhanced attack speed, would strike at it, and when the pet's health got low, Spelldoc would heal it. Finally, Spelldoc would run up to it, swinging her 'springwood club', and Kaaldar would shoot it with his big guns called 'chaos flux', always good for 150 damage per shot. The creature would usually fall easily.
They'd rest for a bit, until their mana recovered, never long with Kaaldar's spell that hastened the recovery speed of the magical energy that powered their spells and be at beastie killing again.
''I don't know, the new Spelldoc and I would have to figure out new game plans, I suspect. It would be different. Well, okay, if you think it will work, go ahead,'' Kaaldar stammered. He would miss his old buddy. He let loose some tears, which slowly eased down his cheeks. It was not weakness to cry. That was an old HUMAN superstition.
Spelldoc, wielding the 'springwood club'
But there is a new team in Norrath. Bonevivant and Vivantbona, the Dark Elf necromancer team are now level eleven. The future looks bright for them, as they bring their enemies to their knees. It is as though Laura gave her blessing on this team, having created Vivantbona for Julia to play. When Laura wearied, she sat on the sofa and smiled while we played this team. She knew Julia enjoys playing, though she was shy to mention it.
Bonevivant and his 'skinny buddy'
I found the house hot last night. We've been running the AC at 80F, which results in 82F, to save on the electricity. The heat I could deal with, but my mind was restless. At 3:30 in the morning, I was restless. I did e-mail, and thought I'd play a little Everquest. Pyrra, the Dark Elf wizard, was so close to level ten. Well, I got her to level ten, but those pesky arcane shapeshifters kept killing her. She had to come back each time to get vengence. By the time vengence had been suitably attained, Julia woke up and told me it was 5:30 in the morning. It was 'no point' in going back to bed then, I thought.
Big mistake! Even an hour might have saved me from snoozing at work. I think a recent widow is given some understanding and forgiveness, and I was glad to go home and sleep, until I barely woke in time to get Julia.
Sadly, there's only four days left of her temporary job. There's been no suggestion of anything permanent on the horizon, so panic is beginning to nip at our heels. We must rethink our priorities. A great change in lifestyle may be on the horizon.
August 7, 2002
"Don't Wanna"
Later, dressed for work, ready to go, but lounging on the sofa, while Julia finished her preparations, I told her, ''I don't wanna go to work today. I feel like being lazy.''
As it's unwise to give into such urges, I went to work and, while sewing, pondered our future. What lay ahead for us? If Julia doesn't secure permanent employment, we will need to move to a smaller and cheaper place. ''I don't wanna move. Julia doesn't wanna move. We DON'T need the additional stress . . .''
I then waxed philosophical with my thoughts, trying not to make demands and expectations of fate, as expectations so often only lead to heartache.
Feeling more peaceful I was halfway through the work day, when an amusing conversation opened up among the ladies of the shop. Virginia said her named sounded so pretty in its Spanish version. ''What's Joan's name in Spanish?'' she asked the two Spanish speaking ladies.
''Juana,'' one replied. ''WANNA?'' I said, all puzzled, for that's the way it's pronounced. The other lady quipped, ''You DONT 'wanna'?'' and we all laughed. ''No, I don't 'wanna','' I replied, grinning. It just didn't sound pretty. Juanita was offered as a prettier variation, and I agreed, that was much prettier.
But it was good to laugh. I noted it was the first time I'd laughed since . . .
. . . that ill-fated Sunday. Laughter can still be possible.
Still, I feel so weary after the work day. There's to be a small gathering of our pagan friends tonight. But I'm so tired, I don't wanna go. I'll just relax at home. I do wanna do that.
August 8, 2002
"Not All Lost"
An old poem helped me:
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Not all lost, the fevering hope.
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I might have done better, written more of Laura, taken more pictures. But at least I have what I did capture.
When we first moved to Yuma, Laura was already in a fragile state healthwise, and we hoped the clean air and lower elevation would give Laura a renaissance of health. For seven months, it did. It is particularily curious, the amount of time. For Laura sometimes spoke of the seven months Shayna was with us. ''A part of me shall always love Shayna, always miss her, and regret, to the end of my days, that we only had seven months,'' she'd written in her book. That wasn't an easy seven months for Julia and I, as things were in a bit of a whirlwind then. Still, after Shayna died, we were glad Shayna had seven happy months, in an otherwise very troubled life.
One day, shortly after moving here to Yuma, I was inspired to write the following:
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Now, the point of no return. You've left all behind. Take what you can grasp in your little hands, and gaze upon it. Days will be like this. Think how much those small hands can hold, Hands of memory, too. Time will be again, mind hands gather every day. sifting, sifting, sifting. Is this not the blessing you'd hoped for? Heart is what treasure is.
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I'm grateful those 'hands of memory' have gathered what they have, and indeed, this is a blessing.
And then, this:
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A regular rhythmic sound, the dripping of a leaky faucet, or the ticking of a clock? I cannot tell. Either way, it marks time, with its constant, precise tick-drippings. Moment by moment, measuring, measuring tick-drip, tick-drip, tick-drip. How soon 'til the water runs out, the grains of sand drip into the finished pile? How much still remains to drip? I am glad I do not know.
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That last day, when she and Julia walked out the door, to go bicycling, Laura was full of smiles. She was happy we'd had a good Everquest session, and Kaaldar could go and scribe his level 29 spells. She left, full of eagerness to return, and again, we'd meet the snow cougars, this time, with BOTH of us having more powerful spells.
Julia said Laura got on the bicycling, smiling, as she told her she'd try to go a little extra distance that day. Laura went out as she would have wanted to, doing the things she wanted, full of confidence and zest to the very end.
"Peaceful"
'How soon 'til that water runs out?' I asked in that poem. I looked at the DATE on that particular poem. It was written December 28, 2002, SEVEN MONTHS to the very day before Laura had her tragic heart attack! I'm grateful for the seven months Laura spent with us in Yuma. These were among our happiest days together. We played, we explored the town, we made friends, all with the inimitatable zest that was Laura's.
I had a dream-blessing last night. In the dream, Julia and I were here at the apartment, Julia in the bedroom, listening to music and I was up on the computer. Laura walked in, smiling, ''Did you really think I would be gone for long,'' she asked, and we embraced, her warm, soft enveloping flesh surrounding me, her eyes full of dancing joy. ''But - but - but you've DIED,'' I stammered, ''This can't be POSSIBLE!'' With a wink, Laura admonished me, ''Don't question the Laura magic, now!'' She was right, as she so often was. I won't question the Laura magic. Who knows when I might 'see' her again?August 10, 2002
Inspired, I felt, and I stayed up late with a new mandala:
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