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I received a message earlier today that my dear friend Patricia had entered what will likely be her final hours.  One of the primary people with her is a woman I've spoken with only once and never met in person, yet I've heard so much about her just as she has heard much about me.  We've been connected through Patricia and, somehow, a part of each other's lives as a result.  Her message today included, "Thank you for being part of this rich and special village."

So I did normal life stuff because Patricia would hate it if I just sat around.  (I could hear her: "Really, love, things still need to be done.")  I planted seed and seedlings in the garden because working the earth with my bare hands is life-affirming.  And I drove empty country roads for awhile, leaking tears.

Then, while writing this post, I received word she had passed away.

Dev asked me how I felt.  The answer is, Adrift.  I feel as if a primary anchor of my life has been lost beneath the waves.  Patricia came into my life as I transitioned from stupid teenager to young adult.  She made me into a decent Shakespearian actor.  She taught me how to actively choose and build friendships.  She was there when my first marriage fell apart.  She took me to the walls of York, and I watched her play the harpsicord in Castle Howard.  She and my sister stood beside me when I married Dev's father.  She was in London when I went into labor with Dev, but she called the hospital and we talked between contractions.  She read every novel I wrote, and laughed with me over my first attempt to write a sex scene.  (Really, it must have taken an iron will to read the entire thing before laughing.)

More recently, she was the first person I called when Dev's father passed.  She got to know Dev when he was a little boy, and as a teen on the edge of adulthood.  Over the past two years, she reintroduced me to myself--the full and creative self I unwittingly left behind when I moved across the country.  We spent a handful of wonderful days together in January.

And you know what I remember most of all? Laughter. No one laughed like Patricia.  I can hear her so clearly.  I can envision so many times we laughed together.  But you know what?  I rarely remember what we were laughing about.  I just remember the joy.

The most honest thing I can say about Patricia is that, were I writing her as a charater in a story, y'all would accuse me of writing a Mary Sue because no real person could be so smart, witty, talented, driven, compassionate, courageous, and happy as she.  No one could be so loved, by so many people, from around the world.  But she was. Is.


( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Apr. 22nd, 2013 04:39 am (UTC)

Here if you need anything.
Apr. 22nd, 2013 04:55 pm (UTC)
I'm so sorry, and I'm glad you got to see her in January.
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )


Blair MacGregor

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