Memorial Tribute to Linda Rose Wegryn

** Given April 23, 2011 **

—  from her lover, friend, spouse and companion, Jim  —

The April day was joyful with sun, but there was a solemn niche in Risen Falls. At the Wyman Mansion, in the study, at the old oak desk, Adam sat brooding.  It had been two weeks since the death of his mother.  When Dawna died that one evening, in her sleep on the divan, he once again found himself in the cave of sorrow searching for a way out.  In the days that followed he rediscovered the mental turbulence that comes with the death of someone close.  He found again how tangled memories can become, how complex life can appear, how cryptic purpose can seem.  And again he stared into the shadows of his own mortality.  But this time the one person to whom he could always go for solace was not there – would no longer be there.  Now no one stood between him and the abyss. The thoughts repeated themselves without permission often producing odd revelations that seemed to give personal expression to all the morbid pathos of literature.  The only comfort he got from the constant rumination, if there is a comfort, was that he was not the first to endure this crop of sensations, nor the first to conclude that life does, will, must go on. — from Oblivion's Children

At noon, on April 1st, 2011 this passage from my science fiction novel, once again became personal.  But this time it spoke with echoes to a broken heart... for Linda, my lover, friend, spouse and companion of 46 years, had passed away.

Yet I realize that great grief only follows great loss.  What I lost was special.  How lucky I was to meet Linda and to marry her… she gave me a wonderful family.  How lucky I was to have such a gorgeous, kind, social soul to temper my rowdy ego… she forgave me my sins and stupidities.  How lucky I was to share moments with her, to travel through life with her… she filled my life's scrapbook with marvelous memories.

Linda was all about love.  She gave it freely and cherished receiving it.  Her empathy was unbounded.  She always tried to see life through the other person's eyes.  When I would cuss a bad driver or a rude salesperson, she would take their side with something like, "They're probably having a bad day."

In all our days together, I can truly say Linda never disliked anyone she met.  I can't recall a time she had an unkind word about anyone, not even politicians.  Linda respected even those she did not know.  Once while driving we realized we were going in the wrong direction.  So, to turn around, I pulled into a long tree-covered drive where a sign declared "Private Drive."  Visibly upset, she said, "You can't do that!"

One frigid winter day bleached with a blanket of impassible snow, I answered a knock on our garage door.  A snow covered man shivered in front of me.  He had walked to the store and, on his way back, wanted to step in to warm up a bit.  Before I could grant him his wish, Linda was ushering the stranger into the house, putting his coat, cap and gloves in the dryer, making him a cup of coffee, and trading autobiographies with him.  I thought, "Damn, I guess I'm only an Ordinary Samaritan."

I once tried to talk to Linda about philosophy… about how there were all these religions and opinions, how there were all these questions that had too many answers, how I had read the experts and wise men… and how I concluded there was no sure way to know truth and reality.  After my long dissertation, she said, "I know.  That's why I don't think about those things."  "Damn," I thought.  "She took a short cut to get to the same place."

It was because of her total focus on people that those other, silly, useless thoughts didn't bother her.  When we would be driving on a long trip in silence, I would be designing a cabinet in my head, or thinking about the meaning of truth, or I would play mental word games.  Then I would turn to see Linda staring straight ahead.  I would ask, "What are you thinking about, Puppy?"  Invariably, her reply would be something like, "Oooh, I was wondering how the kids are."

Sure, Linda enjoyed to be with family and friends.  But she also loved stories about people, especially those of time past.  She loved our home on the Grand River and all the birds and animals that entertained her.  Linda liked to travel and try new things.  On one occasion, as we passed a sign advertising helicopter rides, she turned to me and asked, "Do you wanna?"  "Sure," I said.  As we boarded, we both knew the thing was going to crash.  Of course, we survived... and had another shared moment for our scrapbook of memories.

So here we are, remembering this jewel of humanity.  Each of you has lost a gem… I have lost a fortune.  But, lucky for us, Linda Rose did come into our lives... and for all the moments you knew her, you did have a gem... and for forty-six years, I did have a fortune.  Yet, the loss was not total, for everyone who knew Linda is left with a wealth of precious memories.  Even with that, I wish I could tell her one more time... that I love her.

Also see A Wishful Memory.
And for a look at travel in the 1950s, check out Cross Country.