death

Rest in power, beautiful sister

/ Tracy Abell / 32 Comments

My sister died on Tuesday. I’m both relieved the cancer can no longer hurt her and heartbroken her life was cut short by that insidious disease.

The good news is that Zippy and I were with her in July, and had a very nice visit. We  talked about books (I was reading There There by Tommy Orange which they’d both already read and she was reading Kafka’s The Metamorphosis which I haven’t yet read but now will) and we all expressed admiration for Percival Everett’s James. We watched the Tour de France which was great fun despite the oftentimes baffling  “rules” of the event with its various stages and jerseys, sharing a particular fondness for young rider Ben Healy of Ireland (although we cheered on pretty much every cyclist not riding for Israel). We savored the applesauce she taught me to make when I discovered the bag of overripe apples while cleaning out her refrigerator. My sister also taught me to recognize the song of the Red-eyed Vireo and we put out sugar water for the hummingbirds and peanuts for the jays, and enjoyed all the birds including the male Northern Cardinal who kept throwing himself against the windows as he attacked his own reflection. Edited to add: We also watched a quite large black bear amble through the yard. Kate was doing a personalized Spanish class and the two of us put our heads together to dissect various sentences, searching for the direct and indirect objects which, while not my favorite activity, was still fun because it was in collaboration. My sister loved learning.

Zippy flew back home as scheduled and I stayed another week to help out as her health worsened. Those were hard days but I’ll be forever grateful I could be there for her. When it became clear she needed medical help, I drove her back to the city. It was there, in the hospital, we learned there was nothing more that could be done to stop the cancer.

My sister died in her home, sons and a brother by her side.

The many emotions I’m experiencing are a natural part of the cycle of life and death, I know this. I also know (as did my sister) that she lived a privileged life and accessed topnotch medical care up until her death. Something I don’t know? How the Palestinians who are daily losing their children/spouses/parents/siblings–sometimes all at once–can possibly bear the many emotions of loss and grief they’re experiencing. From where I sit, mourning the loss of a sister, the scale of what the Palestinians are experiencing is unfathomable. Everyone should be allowed to process their grief.

I’m sharing the obituary I wrote (with a few additions by nephew Alex) so that you may know a bit more about my beautiful sister, Kate.

Katherine Marie Abell, formerly of Pardeeville, died at home on September 23, 2025. She was 70.

Kate was born in Milwaukee and moved with her parents (Joanne and Earl) and four younger siblings (Christine, Peter, Tracy, Steve) to Pardeeville when she was in 8th grade. After graduation Kate went to Swarthmore College where she met Bob Martin, sharing 46 years of marriage until his death in 2022. Kate and Bob made a life together in New York City and, united in their fight for tenant rights, squatted in a building to prevent the landlord from evicting the tenants. That apartment eventually became their lifelong home where they later raised sons Alex and James.

Kate was a woman of many interests and talents. She belonged to a book group, a writing group, and founded The Math Collective, a group dedicated to collaborative work around math education. She traveled around the world, played tennis wherever she could find a court, jumped in rivers on cross-country drives, patronized museums, ate a grub in Yosemite, downhill skied, climbed dozens of 14ers in Colorado, and generally reveled in nature. Kate was a labor organizer, poet, and mathematician. After attending Bank Street College, Kate was first a classroom teacher in NYC then a math coach for over 20 years, riding her bike to schools around the city.

Kate treasured time with family and friends, and she and Bob hosted many Thanksgiving gatherings over the years. She valued togetherness and learning, equally happy to organize games of Fictionary, examine insects with her grandchildren, Lilou and River, or discuss literature and social justice with daughters-in-law Megan and Aimee. Kate’s friend group was vast, many of those friendships spanning decades.

Kate cared about community and acted accordingly up to the end of her life, working with neighbors to improve their collective condition. She is already missed.

In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the following movements Kate supported:
Palestinian Refugees: UNRWAUSA.org
Families in Gaza (vetted Go Fund Me’s): gazafunds.com
The Algebra Project INC (focused on equitable math education and programming): algebra.org

A memorial will be held in New York City at a later date.

Rest in power, sister Kate.

For Dillon

/ Tracy Abell / 7 Comments

You never got to see a Northern Harrier, so here are two slightly blurred but fully authentic photos of the harrier I told you about exactly one week ago when we were shoveling that heavy snow together, when you were being your typical generous self and helping clear the enormous snowplow-created snow berm so that Zippy and I would be able to get out of our driveway if needed.

Both images by Zippy. March 11, 2024

You delighted in the fact I’d just learned from Zippy: Northern Harriers have owl-like faces that help them hear prey as they fly low above the ground. I wish you’d had the chance to see and identify one when working with your surveying crew so that you would’ve won the “Raptor ID Pie” for that week.

Even more, I wish you were still here with your easy smile and enormous heart. I wish we could have more conversation about birds and nature and dogs and streams, just a sampling of the many things that brought you joy, but I’m grateful for the time we did share and I hold those memories close.

My heart is shattered. I hope you knew how much you meant to me.

Rest in peace, Dillon.

Why I continue to mask

/ Tracy Abell / 10 Comments

I do not mask because I’m afraid or paranoid. I continue to mask to protect myself, my household, and my community from a mass disabling event. I mask in solidarity with the most vulnerable, the disabled and immunocompromised, the very young and very old, the millions who already have Long Covid. My mask is a raised middle finger to the capitalist system that happily grinds people down to nothing because it sees each person as replaceable. My mask is a signal to the powerful elites that I’m not buying what they’re selling, which is “it’s okay to keep getting infected with Covid-19.”

Guess what? It’s NOT okay to keep getting infected.  “… findings suggest that SARS-CoV-2 infection damages the CD8+ T cell response, an effect akin to that observed in earlier studies showing long-term damage to the immune system after infection with viruses such as hepatitis C or HIV.”

In the early 90s, I helplessly watched as my childhood friend’s body was destroyed by HIV that became full-blown AIDS. Scott was able to officiate over my wedding ceremony, but died four months later, less than two weeks before his 30th birthday. No one should have to experience that agony.

So, how is our government able to peddle the message that it’s okay to keep getting infected? For one, they’ve stopped collecting data. This makes it easier to gaslight us into thinking everything is “back to normal.” Fortunately, a group called the People’s CDC, “a coalition of public health practitioners, scientists, healthcare workers, educators, advocates and people from all walks of life, is working to reduce the harmful impacts of COVID-19.” You can access lots of information and resources HERE.

We need the People’s CDC because the CDC does not prioritize public health and safety. When it became clear that Covid-19 is an airborne virus (picture how smoke lingers in the air after a smoker’s exhale), the logical outcome would’ve been for our government to quickly invest in air filtration systems, right? Instead, people were told their children needed to return to classrooms where there’d been no upgrades of HVAC systems. It wasn’t until the day after the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services ended the federal Covid-19 health emergency on May 11, 2023, that the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) upgraded their site to include information on the importance of air filtration. 

You can access the full page HERE.

They did not include the above info on the site when the emergency order was in place because the government would’ve been expected to invest in filtration systems. Instead, they waited until after the emergency order was ended to include the information. Why? To release them from liability.

So, why am I writing about this today? Because on Friday, three of the four households Zippy and I delivered food to were sick (households that have all experienced previous Covid infections). And because this past weekend my elderly mother died while Covid-positive. She had suffered health issues over the last several months and was in a rehab facility to receive therapy. On Thursday, she was admitted to a hospital with pneumonia and on Friday was diagnosed with Covid-19. She died early Saturday morning. Because of the “let ‘er rip” attitude, I don’t even know where she became infected. The rehab facility? The hospital? To be clear, I’m not saying Covid killed her. What I am saying is that it’s appalling we’ve given up on masking and testing in hospitals (!) and facilities filled with elderly people who are incredibly vulnerable to illness. It’s equally appalling that we haven’t made provisions for the young people in schools who are now being infected over and over again, doing damage to their immune systems in ways that may not show up until years later.

In the meanwhile,  the U.S. is one of the wealthiest nations in the world and yet our health system ranks last among eleven high-income nations. They refuse to give us universal healthcare. Our so-called representatives have access to the best medical support and treatments while the rest of us are forced to spend hours on the phone arguing with our health insurance companies that charge us high premiums only to constantly deny us care. Do you really believe this system would take care of you if you develop Long Covid? Remember, the U.S. can’t afford universal healthcare, but we can afford to spend billions of dollars to kill people in other countries!

Again, I do not mask out of fear.

My mother-in-law was no stereotype

/ Tracy Abell / 17 Comments

Monday evening, my mother-in-law died.

Bouquet from yard in vase made by young Wildebeest, given to Alice on day before her death.

Contrary to what books and movies would have us believe, not all mothers-in-law are control freaks who believe no one is good enough for their sons. Some are kind, loving, and supportive.

It didn’t feel that way at the start. The first time I met Alice was when Zippy brought me to his parents’ home in Colorado for Christmas in 1988. At the time, he and I had a long-distance relationship between our two California cities. When it was bedtime, Alice showed me where I’d sleep, which wasn’t where Zippy was sleeping. I remember the depths of loneliness I felt lying in that room in an unfamiliar house filled with people I didn’t know. Loneliness plus resentment for the uptight mother of my boyfriend.

That’s the first and last thing she ever did to upset me. No exaggeration. And after I got to know Alice, I realized her decision to put me in that bedroom by myself wasn’t a comment on me or my relationship with her son, but because she didn’t want to make assumptions.

Alice welcomed me with open arms and later extended her endless love to Wildebeest and Zebu. If Alice was a stereotype, it was as a devoted grandmother. She genuinely loved spending time with her grandchildren. Wildebeest told me a story yesterday about the time Alice and Stu took care of Zebu and him for a weekend while Zippy and I went out-of-state for my high school reunion. He’s foggy on the details — maybe he and his brother were fighting over a toy or complaining of boredom — but he remembers it was the only time Grandma got mad at them.

I believe it. Alice was the queen of easy-going. She loved family and friends, and was always the first to laugh at herself. She’d do something — such as accidentally sitting on her camera in the church pew at her other son’s wedding — then let out her trademark “woooo,” followed by a giggle. One time, she agreed to help me make curtains for the boys’ bedroom. After many, many laughter-filled minutes trying to figure out how to thread the sewing machine needle and bobbin, we gave up and called her capable seamstress neighbor who set things right while Alice and I laughed some more.

Once, Alice agreed to accompany me to a doctor’s appointment where she stayed out in the car with the boys. Toddler Zebu was still very attached to me and didn’t handle separation well. When he began crying, Alice struggled to get him out of the car seat, growing more confused as his wailing reached epic proportions. In later years, Alice told the story of how Wildebeest leaned in at that moment to say, “Read the directions, Grandma.” She then read the instructions on the car seat and was able to release Zebu and calm him. But in her telling, all credit went to Wildebeest.

Alice was generous to a fault. She feared and disliked cats, yet cut out cat pictures for the birthday cards she’d make me. When she flew to Alaska to help out after Zebu was born, she told me to let her know if any of her behavior bothered me. She said this knowing that the recent visit from my own mother had caused more problems than it alleviated. Once, after Stu and I had a spirited conversation about our differing political views, in which he was literally hopping mad and called me a communist, Alice forced him to phone me the next day to apologize. Honestly, I thought it was pretty funny seeing my father-in-law so wound up, but Alice didn’t want to risk hurt feelings. Family mattered.

Alice was nineteen when she had Zippy (Stu was twenty-one). Alice had four children by the time she was thirty, a mind-boggling realization when I had my first child at 30 years and barely considered myself mature enough to be a parent. Over the years, Alice and Stu apologized to their kids for supposed mistakes they’d made and opportunities they hadn’t provided. But from my perspective, that young and very poor couple accomplished a miracle: they raised four well-adjusted children who not only loved their parents very much, but also love and support each other.

Over the three weeks following Alice’s heart surgery at the end of July, those four children worked together to help their ailing mother. They coordinated efforts so Alice, who was deaf and suffering dementia, would never be alone in an unfamiliar place. Under increasingly scary and difficult circumstances, those four hung together in their shared goal to ease their mother’s discomfort.

And now Alice’s smile and laughter are only memories. Our hearts are shattered, but I’m deeply grateful for the years I had with my mother-in-law. My wish for her now, wherever she is, is that there are buffets rather than menus. Because for her many fine qualities, Alice struggled to make decisions. Eating out with her was a study in patience. But maybe there are menus and waitstaff. In which case, as Alice was fond of saying, “I hope it all works out.”

Honoring Bob

/ Tracy Abell / 2 Comments

This past weekend, a whole lot of people gathered to honor and celebrate my brother-in-law‘s life.

I’ve known for decades that Bob was a stellar human being (one of the very best on the planet), but it was still incredible to hear that sentiment expressed over and over again. Every single speaker mentioned the very things that made me love Bob so much: his kindness and lack of judgment, the way he listened so that you felt heard and valued. His generosity and tenacity in his lifelong fight for tenants’ rights and consumer protection. How he used his sense of humor and intellect to punch up, never down. His passion for life and love for his family. His enormous heart.

I laughed and cried throughout the program.

Many comments resonated throughout, but one theme in particular spoke to me: Bob never turned cynical or stopped hoping and believing in a better world.

I felt called-out because this country’s collapse and slide into fascism while the so-called “better party” is in power has made me hugely cynical. I’ve been tempted to give up. But Bob never gave up on justice. He continued fighting for society’s vulnerable and voiceless, up until the very end of his life. If I’m to truly honor Bob’s life,  I must do the same.

I love and miss you so much, Bobaloo. Rest in power, brother.

Rest in power, brother

/ Tracy Abell / 25 Comments

Late Wednesday night, my brother-in-law died peacefully after a six-year battle with illness. Bob has been in my life since I was 12 or 13 years old — the vast majority of my time on the planet — and I’m struggling to adjust to a world without him.  I last saw him in person in March 2020 right before the pandemic hit hard and while I don’t remember specifics of any conversations, I’m positive there was much laughter. Bob and I always laughed.

Well, not always. Back when I was still a kid, my younger brother and I took the train from Wisconsin to Minneapolis where Bob and my sister were living at the time. Within minutes of our arrival, I managed to knock the tea kettle off the stove and make a big mess. When Bob pretended to be mad, I took his gruffness seriously and withdrew into myself. It took a while for him to convince me he’d been joking and throughout the rest of our lives, he’d tease me about our Teapot Dome Scandal.

I found ways to get back at him, though. During one of the many trips he and my sister and sons made to Colorado, I snuck a random item in Bob’s luggage right before he left. Ha, joke was on him! Except the next time he visited, he returned with that random item and locked it to the rod in our coat closet. Eventually, he gave in and provided the combination.

Another trip, he caught a later flight to Denver than the rest of his family and while someone distracted Bob at the baggage claim area, I grabbed his duffel bag off the carousel, removed his contents, and replaced them. When Bob unzipped his “oddly light” bag, he discovered a plastic pig mask staring up at him from a bed of popcorn. (Full disclosure: Bob wasn’t quite as enthused by this prank as the rest of us.)

While our relationship was laughter-based, it was deeper than that. Bob was my safe refuge. Our interactions were stress-free because Bob accepted me for who and what I was, without judgment. (With the exceptions of giving me shit about wearing socks with my Tevas and never ironing my clothes). I gravitated toward him whenever we were in a group setting. Bob was friendly and easy to be around.

He could also be intense, as in his commitment to health and strength. We frequently ran together (Bob easily transitioned from sea level to exercise at Colorado elevation) but that wasn’t enough for him, not even on vacation. He’d also lift weights, do yoga, push-ups and sit-ups, and climb 14ers. Bob was lean and mean his entire life.

Bob mid-yoga pose in August 2007.

Bob was devoted to his family. Here he is with my sister and their sons in 1994. They came to Alaska to visit during the summer, but didn’t think to pack for winter.  🙂  (My sister and nephew are each wearing one of my hats, the other nephew is wearing Zippy’s hat, and I think that’s my oversized jean jacket on Bob — but note that he’s bare-headed and impervious to cold!) Two vivid non-Bob-specific memories from that visit: the younger nephew, who was only six, carried his own pack the entire steep hike up to the Harding Ice Field AND that hike included my only black bear sighting of the six years I lived in Alaska.

A chilly tour of Kenai Fjords

Bob loved kids — his own and everyone else’s. Here he is conversing with Zebu.

And patiently enduring the construction of a stuffed animal tower on top of his head.

Bob was also a fierce advocate for people he’d never met. He was a lawyer who used his powers for good. Even while undergoing treatment, he led tenant meetings and fought for housing justice. In myriad ways, Bob worked to make this world a better place. I admired him greatly. And loved him even more. A quick search didn’t turn up any photos of the two of us and I’m too raw right now to dig deeper. But that’s okay because his smile and voice are imprinted on my heart.

Rest in power, Bobaloo.

On death

/ Tracy Abell / 18 Comments

I just learned that a neighbor died. Alone. In their home. I don’t know any details beyond that. In trying to process all this, I went in search of a quotation that might speak to me and help make sense of the situation. This, from Kurt Vonnegut, caught my eye: There is love enough in this world for everybody, if people will just look. That sentiment felt applicable because of how the neighbor had alienated others to the extent that no one could pinpoint for the police when the neighbor had last been seen. In my mind, the aloneness had been needlessly self-inflicted over the years, destroying relationships that had once thrived. Then I happened upon this quotation from Orson Welles: We’re born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we’re not alone. Who was I to pity the neighbor when every one of us will make that final trip alone? Our neighbor was fiercely independent and very proud of that fact.

I recently read Smoke Gets In Your Eyes & Other Lessons from the Crematory which was quite helpful, not only because it put death in perspective, but also for leading me to human composting. For years, I’d been telling Zippy that when I die I wanted him to toss my body in the forest so that the crows and whatever else could feast on my remains. He patiently and repeatedly pointed out how he’d probably get in serious trouble for disposing of his wife’s body in the woods. But now I have a plan that’s legal and suits my wishes. It’s incredibly freeing to know that when I die, my body will not only return to the soil but also enrich the earth. I hope my neighbor experienced a similar peace by having a death plan in place. I also hope their death was swift and painless, and that they maintained their sense of indomitability to the very end. When your time comes to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home. ~ Tecumseh

This flower from my garden is a stand-in for the photos I took years ago of my neighbor’s iris. They were out of state that spring and sad to miss their garden in bloom, so I documented the display and sent it along. Remembering that connection eases some of today’s shock.

May 13, 2020

Death forces us to think more about life and how we’re spending our finite time here. Zippy and I are grateful to have our sons visiting now and we’ve shared even more hugs than usual today. If you’ve read this far, thank you for sharing in these musings with me. I’m grateful for our connection.

Wordless Wednesday now a tribute

/ Tracy Abell

I’d just sat down to upload a photo of our blooming Christmas cactus when my phone rang. It was Wildebeest, in tears. Young Dolph, his favorite rapper whom he listens to all the time, was just murdered in Memphis. My son cried, “He has kids! Why do people have to murder each other?”

All I could do was listen to his pain. There’s no making sense of the senseless.

November 17, 2021

Rest in power.

Wordful Wednesday

/ Tracy Abell / 8 Comments

I photographed this Black-billed Magpie at the beginning of the pandemic when I escaped to the open space with a blanket, binoculars, and my camera. It’s not a particularly good photo, but it captures the elegance of a magpie’s flight feathers. I remember the emotional boost I experienced while watching and listening to this bird and the other magpies. They were so raucous that day and I felt honored when several gathered in a tree close to my blanket, squawking and carrying on.

April 1, 2020

Yesterday, I shared some sad magpie news. Today I’m filled with sorrow over that senseless death, but also gratitude for my many magpie sightings, visits, and interactions over the years. They never fail to enchant.

Thank you, Toni Morrison

/ Tracy Abell

We die. That may be the meaning of life.
But we do language. That may be the measure of our lives.
                                                               ~ Toni Morrison

She fearlessly wielded language, never backing down from truth. I’m grateful she graced the planet for 88 years, creating books that will keep her fierce genius alive forever.

Rest in power.

 

Sunday Confessional: I miss Zoey and am also glad she’s gone

/ Tracy Abell

As Zippy and Zebu watch football right now, this photo from my phone reminds me of another recent football Sunday. On that day in November, Zoey and Emma were Zippy’s (napping) football buddies.

It’s been almost two months since we said goodbye to Zoey and I must confess her absence has been easier to handle than witnessing her decline. I’m grateful for the years we had together and thankful she’s no longer suffering pain and confusion. (Bonus: she’s also free of all Broncos games!)

Thankful Thursday: Mary Oliver edition

/ Tracy Abell

Today I’m grateful for Mary Oliver who created accessible poems that were simultaneously simple and profound. Here’s one of my favorites from American Primitive.

Vultures
Like large dark
lazy
butterflies they sweep over
the glades looking
for death,
to eat it,
to make it vanish,
to make of it the miracle:
resurrection. No one
knows how many
they are who daily
minister so to the grassy
miles, no one
counts how many bodies
they discover
and descend to, demonstrating
each time the earth’s
appetite, the unending
waterfalls of change.
No one,
moreover,
wants to ponder it,
how it will be
to feel the blood cool,
shapeliness dissolve.
Locked into
the blaze of our own bodies
we watch them
wheeling and drifting, we
honor them and we
loathe them,
however wise the doctrine,
however magnificent the cycles,
however ultimately sweet
the huddle of death to fuel
those powerful wings.

vulture-275425_640

Image from Pixabay.com

Rest in beauty, Mary.

Saying goodbye to an old friend

/ Tracy Abell / 18 Comments

In a few minutes, a kind veterinarian is going to arrive at our home to help us say goodbye to Zoey. She’s lived with us the past 13+ years which is more than half of Wildebeest and Zebu’s lifetimes. This morning Wildebeest said goodbye before  heading back to his home that’s a six-hour drive from here. Zebu will be with Zoey at the end.

Zoey’s last trip to Westcliffe. August 12, 2017

We’d originally hoped to say goodbye to Zoey tomorrow because it’s my birthday today. But when the vet offered to come this afternoon it seemed the best option. Zoey’s tired and has had enough, and it felt wrong to delay the inevitable. We’ve definitely made the right decision for her, but the mood is less than festive.

Rest in peace, our sweet Zotato.

Rest in power, Aretha

/ Tracy Abell / 4 Comments

Today we mourn the loss of Aretha Franklin. I am grateful for the many hours spent listening, singing along with and dancing to her music. She was an extraordinary artist (and I’m just now learning about her social justice work including a willingness to post bail for Angela Davis). I am the farthest thing from a religious person, but this version of Marvin Gaye’s Wholy Holy gives me goosebumps. Every single time.

Do yourself a favor and spend your next five minutes with the Queen of Soul.

Rest in power, Aretha.

Thankful Thursday

/ Tracy Abell / 4 Comments

I’ve kept a gratitude journal on and off for a number of years, but am currently in an off phase. I hope to resume my bedtime ritual of listing five things I’m grateful for, but in the meanwhile:

Today I am grateful . . .

  • my sister helped me feel more at peace about a friend’s death.
  • my critique group gifted me another week to finish the draft of my work-in-progress and that
  • I am, indeed, making progress on that work.
  • I enjoyed a calm, non-aggressive walk in the warm sunshine with Emma, even though we passed other dogs.
  • I completed my four-minute plank despite learning the hard way that Led Zeppelin’s Four Sticks is absolutely not a good motivational song. Nope, not even close.

The power of a name

/ Tracy Abell

Today I finished reading MY CROSS TO BEAR by Gregg Allman (with Alan Light). I was very sad when he died, and put a library hold on his autobiography. I’m currently listening to Brothers and Sisters, the first full album the group recorded after guitarist-extraordinaire Duane Allman died of injuries from a motorcycle wreck, and am listening to the music in a whole new way.

I’m feeling chock-full of Allman Brothers Band lore, but the anecdote that really gives me the chills is the one about how they chose the name for the band. I always assumed it was because Duane and Gregg put the group together, so Allman got top billing.

Not so.

Photo for At Fillmore East album, 1971. Photographer Jim Marshall.

Once they (finally) found their perfect musical combination of two lead guitarists, two drummers, one bass player and one organist, Duane called for a vote on the group’s name. The six members each wrote down the band name he wanted. Gregg chose Beelzebub (the right-hand man of the devil) and Duane, a huge Tolkien fan, chose something from Lord of the Rings. The other four guys? They each wrote Allman Brothers Band.

For some reason, that story really makes me smile.

There was also laughter

/ Tracy Abell / 2 Comments

Laughter is the tonic, the relief, the surcease for pain.
~ Charlie Chaplin

Zippy and I attended the funeral for a young woman this morning. So much sadness in the church. And yet, there was also laughter.

Rest in peace, K.

Sunday Confessional: Today I’m wishing I could have a do-over

/ Tracy Abell / 2 Comments

This afternoon I randomly thought about a man I once knew and then looked him up online. Well, I discovered that he’d died about 18 months ago. He used to be married to a friend of mine, but they divorced. The man had done some stuff that ended up being unforgivable. Zippy and I had spent quite a bit of time with both of them as a couple, and we liked the man. He was smart, funny, and always made us feel welcome when we visited. But after the bad stuff came to light, my loyalty was to my friend. The man reached out once, but I didn’t return the call.

I still believe I was right to stand by my friend, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m now wishing I’d tried to communicate with him at some point. The thing is, my friend and I aren’t really in touch anymore so this news makes it feel as if I’ve lost two friends.

But, as Billy Wilder said, “Hindsight is always twenty-twenty.”

Because he loved these flowers.

 

.