Alan Rickman

Alan Rickman's death has made me incredibly sad. I've been processing it all day. The question of "why" is always one to consider, but with a celebrity, why does it matter so much?

I think when a celebrity who has had an effect on us through art dies, it brings forward the feelings of those we have lost that we did know personally. The music, movies, and theater created by the talented celebrities who can honestly be called "artist" (of whom both Alan Rickman and David Bowie were) create an emotional connection that mimics what we have between us as humans. It's one way, of course, but as anyone who has experienced unrequited feelings knows, that doesn't make it less of an emotional connection.

So in their death, we experience again all the feelings of friends and family we have lost, as well as the tragedy of "what else could they have created, given time?" All combined, it's no wonder we've all been upside down with the loss of such giants.

I had an incredible conversation earlier with a dear friend about death and loss, especially those that seem unfair. I am grateful for friends like him who can express their rage and anger at loss while allowing me to express grief, who don't lessen what I'm feeling. Talking it through is also made it easier, as it usually does. A burden shared...

Tonight we watched Dogma and Galaxy Quest in the name of Alan Rickman. If I had started the Harry Potter movies, I would have to watch them all and I don't know if I can watch him die tonight (Die Hard, Potter, many others). I needed comedy.

Always.

Five Women....Minus One

There are five women in my life who know me. They've seen me at my best and worst, they understand me. They are my friends and peers, and those closest to me.

Yesterday, one of those women died.

She taught me incredible lessons on how to be gracious while being sick, something she had copious practice with. She knew and understood me in ways no one else could and she was my example of who to be in areas of my life that are obscure and foreign to most people. I loved her for our unique bond, the fact that she knew the side effects I would experience with every medication since she had been through them and reacted the same way, and that she knew my dosages, just like I knew hers, just in case a doctor was called. We understood each other's stubborn refusal to accept help outside of a very small group of people assigned to such a task and our deep and prevalent fear of appearing weak.

Despite the chair, she was not a weak woman. She was one of the strongest people I've ever met. When we would talk and the pain would be especially bad, she would excuse herself, tell me she was on Dilaudid, then curse a blue streak. Never, though, when sober and never in public. A lady in every way, and one that expected the men around her to be gentlemen, especially those from the South who should know better.

She prepared us for this a hundred times. We talked about funeral arrangements and wills and all that. But when she comes out of it time after time, you begin to discount the reality of the fact. You forget that the odds tend to catch up with you. You begin to believe, as many of us did, that she would outlive us all.

One of my women has died. And I am hollow and empty without her. Grief will pass, the pain will fade. We will eventually say good-bye. But I will never forget my friend, my incredible, strong friend whose quiet strength and fiery spirit sang to me again and again of the kind of woman I strive to be.

My Version of Grandma's Obituary

Grandma died around 5 a.m. on 12/27. As I had suspected, Death was a friend and she slipped away quietly and without fanfare. I like to think that Grandpa was waiting for her and I did ask her to put in a good word should she see him since we never met. The funeral and burial is on Thursday.

My version of my grandmother's obituary would look something like this:

Claudia Marie Ammons nee Cowan was born in Jay, Oklahoma in 1924 to a spirited woman. Due to her father being a bit of a louse, Claudia's mother took her to live with her parents and went to work to provide for her child. She remarried and proceeded to have several more children, most of whom were adults before they were aware that their eldest sister had a different father. During WWII, Claudia worked in a factory building planes, where she met the love of her life, George M. Ammons (1916-1979). They married on Christmas Day 1947 and attended college together at Oklahoma Baptist University. They later adopted a son, Randy, and had two daughters, Trisha and Georgianna. Claudia followed George to California to take a position as minister at the First Baptist Church of Fontana, where they would remain until he died. Claudia worked as church secretary while raising their children.

Following the unexpected death of her husband, Claudia moved to Shawnee, Oklahoma where she and George had bought a house and planned to retire. She worked as preschool teacher for Immanual Baptist Church, where she taught a generation of children who would always speak of her fondly. Being a small woman, she had trouble changing her light bulbs, but found help in the nice Jehovah's Witness boys who came to her door. She worked to convert them as they assisted her. She never sat jury duty because she was certain the accused had some good reason for their crime.

Claudia passed away suddenly on December 27th. She is survived by three children who adore her and their spouses who are grateful for such a warm mother-in-law, as well as 7 grandchildren and 3 great-grandchildren, all of whom she held in her arms as babies (including the one who was just born). She is also survived her sister-in-law (and oft partner in crime) Ina and her own sister Betty, who with her husband Curtis also has many children and grandchildren who think of "Aunt Claudia" as a rare breed of woman that each of us could only hope to try to be like. Finally, she is survived by scores of church goers, community members, children now grown and random strangers who have been touched by her life in a positive way. She does not leave behind those who might speak poorly of her, because no such people exist. She approached each day with love and gentleness, and left behind a more loved and gentle world.

People do not die for us immediately, but remain bathed in a sort of aura of life which bears no relation to true immortality but through which they continue to occupy our thoughts in the same way as when they were alive. It is as though they were traveling abroad. ~Marcel Proust

My morning started with a phone call. My friend, Harley Herrin, died last nigh. He would have been 32 on Saturday.

I keep trying to put feelings into words and can't. I have had many phone calls, texts and IMs today about this. People checking if I knew, others looking for someone to talk to. I am happy to be that for them if they need it. But I can't for the life of me process this for myself.

Harley has been troubled the last few years. His life has tossed him a bunch of curves that no one could have anticipated and he didn't always have time to swerve. At least now it's all straight roads.

Goodbye, Harley. Your bear hugs will be missed. Your spirit can't be - it's part of us all now, making us each more beautiful for it.