19 years ago today, Kathy Lynn Alley was shot by an intruder in her home. Mortally wounded, Ms. Alley was able to clearly and unambiguously identify her shooter before dieing on the operating table an hour later.
I feel like I know her. I feel like I know the soul that inhabited her body.
10 months ago yesterday, my husband, her fiancee, died as a result a lengthy battle with PTSD and depression. He, who suffered decades of emotional and physical abuse from his parents and then this violent triggering event, never had a chance to experience life as many of the rest of us do.
I often feel like I never knew him...the soul that walked in that body through that life.
Today, I would want my paradoxical knowing and unknowing to somehow find their combined voice. As I light this yartzeit candle for a woman I never met, I reflect on how she has impacted my life...decades later.
My wish for myself:
That I know the strength of my soul; in the knowing and in the not knowing. That I tell the story of how we are all connected; how we are all responsible for one another...in this life.
I know my soul. Today it begins its walk for the lives that could not be.
August 23, 2008
In Memoriam
August 18, 2008
My GreenSpot
This past Friday I received my window sticker from the City of Columbus, designating my home as a Columbus GreenSpot. I immediately and proudly displayed the sticker on my side window where passersby can readily see it. I spent the evening working on the house and garden and was pleased to find myself finally feeling that I genuinely have a home; that it is genuinely mine. My colors, my furniture, my animals, my friends, my love. A house filled with life, love, color and beauty...
Then on Saturday, Jack and I were sitting on the back porch when my neighbor stopped over with a bag of goodies freshly picked from his garden...grapes (yes, the old-fashioned kind with seeds), tomatoes, and peaches. My neighbors are friendly, helpful and kind. It is a good place to live. When I think of neighbors, I will always remember the kindness and generosity of spirit of my Cleveland neighbors who were there for me when my husband died; who provided friendship and company in the long days of learning how to move forward into whatever would be next.
Through everything I am grateful. In so many ways, I know I have found home.
August 16, 2008
The Growl of a Predator
I've been following Leroy Sievers' blog My Cancer for over a year now. By the time I started getting the feeds, he'd outlived the prognosis of his stage four cancer for over two years. He had rallied and regained strength and the cancer had come back in strange and unpredictable ways that had limited and sometimes bizarre treatment options. Today I awoke to a rare Saturday post. I held my breath and read that he died last night.
Leroy was a journalist and had traveled to some of the most dangerous and lifeforsaken places in the world. He was adventuresome and curious; smart and boyish. I enjoyed getting to know him. He considered his work toward health a battle, and used all of the typical war metaphors describing his illness. I wish that we had better language to capture struggle against illness...perhaps it's just life, but that is a subject for another day. Today I honor his battle and that of those who loved him.
I am moved by the strength of a man who last posted two days ago and his wife Laurie who lately posted more often than he. Moved by their love, moved by their fear, moved by their courage, moved by their vulnerability, moved by their humility.
I don't know them, but through this blogosphere, feel connected. In honor of that life and of that blogosphere, I share Laurie's post from yesterday.
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