Woman Falls To Her Death at U of T

As articles go, it's very spare, very basic.  Just the cold, hard facts that were available at the time.   Which I can't fault the Toronto Star for, since there probably wasn't much else they could print.  But at the same time, there is so much else missing from that article that it's enough to make a person scream at the indignity of it, because it's all so glib, so sensationalized.

But you can't print what you don't know, right?  Well, I'm taking the time to make sure everyone knows the facts.

What that article didn't tell you is that this woman loved to travel.  She'd been to so many places; Europe, Asia, South America, and she desperately wanted to see more of the world.  She often talked about moving to South America for good, mainly because she really dug the coffee there.

What the article didn't tell you is that she also loved karaoke.  She had an interestingly deep voice, and while she never did have much of a range, she did have stage presence.  She would inject every single song she sang with such feeling and gusto that it made it impossible to ignore her. 

What the article also didn't tell you is that she had a way of hugging you so tightly, so fiercely, that it could make you feel like you were completely and utterly loved, treasured. 

She had two cats, Pumpkin (named so because she was found on Halloween and was orange in color) and Lester (whom she nicknamed "bunny" due to his tendency to hop around.)  She wanted to learn how to play the accordion.  She took sailing lessons this summer.  She had a collection of some of the most ridiculous and outlandish hats ever constructed, and wore them proudly.  She had a cactus that she called Mr. Spikey.  She was the kind of person that could best be described as being "dangerously alive"; she lived fully in every moment, never hanging back, never shying away, and sucking every last morsel of enjoyment out of every waking moment.

She had her flaws, as any person does, but those flaws never struck people as finding her wanting or lacking anything.  If anything, they made her more compelling as a human being, more real and more whole.  She may not have felt that way in her moments of despair, but to those closest to her knew better and told her often how much they loved her for who she was, not for who she wasn't.

She knew she was loved.  I think that's the thing, the only thing, that is holding me together somewhat right about now.  And she loved back, in a way that could take your breath away with its ferocity, its fullness and its depth.

She was one of my greatest friends, a member of what Ruth called "the family of choice" and possibly one of the most wonderful people I ever had the opportunity to get to know.  And as awful as I'm feeling right now--as so many of us are feeling right now, on this September morning--I wouldn't trade anything for the times we had together.

But Goddamnit, I'd do anything to bring her back.