I haven't written in a while, and here I open the blog and realize the last thing I wrote was about loss. Still, I will proceed.
Sue Long Turner passed away this morning. Sue summed up how she lived best when she said, "When all is done and I'm ready to leave Planet Earth, my dream is to leave a trail for others to follow even if it's nothing more than
'elderly is a malady that a busy writer has no time for.'" Sue never grew old. Frail, feeble, even forgetful, but never old. Sue's religion, real as dirt, surpassed labels. Her daughter is comforted by Sue's understanding her need to give her mother a "Baptist funeral" and Sue gave her blessings. I won't even be able to attend that, for I've paid for tickets to fly to Scotland that day. Sue will understand, and she may well meet me at Loch Ness. She could even convince Nessie to come out to frolic. I bet she does.
I had a call this morning from Al Murray, and tomorrow I get to meet him. We shared his Terrie, though I've never met Al. We'll have her with us to get past any difficulties in conversation, though. We're going to have barbecue and tea, because Terrie loved them.
Sue, Terrie, and I were three of a group of ten writers, comrades, and friends. This group has filled a huge hole I didn't know existed in my essence, and these two holes may seem open, but they're full of memories.