My aunt Julie passed away on June 16, 2007 at 5:45pm in an intensive care wing of a Hawaii-based hospital. She was 59 years old. I stood there in the room, motionless, wiped clean with shock, sterile like the room, which hinted an odor of cleansing chemicals and medicine. I've lost my voice over the last year and standing bedside with my aunt--Olympic Torch Bearer, Air Force Veteran, Lesbian Writer and Educator, believer in Light and Transcendence--as she lay on that hospital bed in a coma, just one day after speaking to her, muted my soul even further.
And I was reminded last night as I scanned Craigslist for jobs (among other things) how fortuitous it is to share with others. Sometime during the night, I began exchanging emails with a woman that wanted to share her writing and receive feedback. The exchange was liberating and therapeutic as we settled into an open and easy interaction.
Ever since returning from Hawaii, I've had an increasing desire to converse with random people in random situations, mostly to listen to and share stories of pain, our visions for life, and to connect with another human being. It seems that when someone passes, there is an opportunity to absorb some of their life force. My desire to connect with others is one of the things I picked up from my aunt as she closed her eyes and her spirit filled the room.
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