Earlier I received word that a spectacularly dear woman I met and befriended last year died this morning. Karen was possibly the most remarkable woman I've ever met, and her vibrancy has resonated with everyone who has ever encountered her. Karen was a mother of four loving, loyal, strong teenagers. Her husband Todd was killed in a car accident last year. Karen was young. Karen had cancer. So often inevitable things are those for which I am the least prepared. This hurts.
Twenty minutes after I learned of this and the ensuing texts began, my mom notified me that her old old old friend from Humboldt County, Califonia, had died of a massive stroke. She too was young, and she too leaves behind a teenage daughter. She had just been up to visit. She was by far the most easygoing person ever. I always liked her the best. She never cared how rambunctious we got, and she taught me that orange juice is also called "o.j." I felt like a superhero being the only three year old to know that. She was a school bus driver, which was extremely impressive, since school bus drivers, like school teachers, are meant to live only in their buses or classrooms, and knowing one in real life was definitely a feather in my four year old cap. Her name was Karin.
These women have left not only imprints on this place whereupon we dwell temporarily, but they've left holes.
Make an imprint.