I certainly am grieving. She was too young when she died - barely older than me. It wasn't cancer or a car accident or some act of violence. But she's gone, and I miss her.
She was smart and funny and attractive and interesting. We talked about books and music and movies and the ways of the world. We met for drinks a few times when she visited New York - she was the only person I know who preferred her Manhattan on the rocks. In one of those strange coincidences, although she had no ties to the area, she went to the college in the Ancestral Homeland that I almost attended. It was a small enough school that we would probably have known each other had I gone there. Her legal practice was in a field where she really did good for society.
Since she died, I haven't talked to anyone about her or about missing her or about what she meant to me. And that makes me a little sad. Although I guess I am telling you those things now, right?
Anyway, I'm having a Manhattan on the rocks tonight. Because it is Margaret that I mourn for.
Spring and Fall
to a young child
MARGARET, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow’s springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for. 