☆ September 3, 2013
I’ve cried every day for the past eighteen days.
Some days it doesn’t last long; maybe 45 seconds.
Some days it goes on for hours.
Joslyn was in my book -
I wrote about feeding bum lambs with her in one of the first chapters.
When the book came out, she was off somewhere -
she was often off doing something amazing,
like apprenticing with a farrier and forging custom horseshoes.
On her way back in mid-November,
she stopped at a World Market to do some Christmas shopping
and saw my book on a display table.
She said it didn’t even register that it was my book,
that she was drawn to the picture and “Wyoming” in the subtitle,
and she picked it up and flipped to a random page and started reading.
She opened right to the passage I had written about her.
She told me she started tripping,
quickly looked back at the cover and it fully registered,
then started crying in the store
and bought half a dozen copies for gifts.
I’ve always loved that story -
to me, it’s not coincidence, but connection.
Part of what has made me so angry and sad these past weeks
is that it already feels like there is such an imbalance
between good vs shit where humanity is concerned
and she was so good.
So full of grace and genuine kindness.
She didn’t hold people’s flaws against them.
In this respect, I am a kindergartener
and she had a PhD.
But I will keep that part of her alive
by trying to make it a bigger part of me.
There’s that ubiquitous question:
If you could have anything, what would you wish for?
If we’re really honest, and really selfish,
wouldn’t our answers all be the same?
It’s not money.
It’s not world peace.
It’s having one more hour with those who have died.