August 29, 2024

Dear Linda,

I am sitting in my garden this morning taking in all the abundance of flowers and tomato fruits. Your tomatoes are flourishing like never before and every time I tend to them, I think about you. Your garden, that you and Chris worked so hard on this spring, is just stunning. You gave it your all to make it spectacular for your family this year!

We were at your Celebration of Life at Van Dusen gardens yesterday. I met and saw all the people you told me about in your verbal and written stories over the years. They are all so beautiful and they all love you so much. It was obvious that you were a pillar for many people, not only in your personal life but also in the work that you have done. I saw Lane when he spoke -- he is really going to miss you. I met Karen, too. The lilt of her words and a special tone in her voice had me thinking she was you for a split second. I was sorry to hear about your brother, whom you've told me so much about. It seems, both of your passings were so unexpected and shocking to everyone's time flow.

Linda, you have seriously impacted so many people's lives -- across generations! I remember the day we connected. We were both crocodile crawling on our stomachs on the play mats at the play gym at Trout Lake Community Center alongside our infants. There was such a determination in you to connect and engage with Shailen and I could tell you were a wonderful grandmother with a mission and a deep sense of purposeful presence. This day that we met, you told me that Shailen was adopted. "He looks just like you," I said. "I know," you replied, "he fits right in." You were over the moon and there was, like, a delighted spark in your eyes. Shailen read a favourite children's story at the celebration. I thought I heard your voice in his, too.

Over the years, as the boys grew alongside each other, we would have so many deep and vulnerable conversations on park benches, under trees and in trees, walking and walking, clambering on playgrounds, in your tangled garden, or at my kitchen table sipping licorice tea.

We talked about homelessness and displacement, immigrant and refugee issues, women's rights, finding confidence and courage, our families and the complexities within. We shared stories and feelings about our close relationships throughout our lives. I love that our friendship could be met where our age difference had no significance, we saw each other deeper than that. Thank you for having been a keeper of my secrets, deep thoughts and feelings and for entrusting me with your stories and experiences in turn. I have learned so much from you, I mean, an invaluable amount of wisdom and caring words that I will take along with me for a lifetime.

Do you remember the day we were walking along Victoria Drive with the kids up to Trout Lake (and Salila was with us), and I asked you, "What's it like to have birthed and raised a historical figure?" We stopped walking and you stood in that profoundness. I could see your strength like a light beyond your body bask in that knowing. I imagine it is that feeling that everything you had worked so hard for (in all your expressive voices) has all come together to a satisfied and peaceful place of 'knowing' that it was all worth it. Your aura was beaming with pride and accomplishment.

Over the last few isolating motherhood years, you have offered me a very great friendship. In fact, in many ways, you carried me through. You were the one I looked out for the most on the school playground at three o'clock pick-ups. There was always such a comfort in being next to you whether chatting away or just hanging out.

This year, in the spring, I saw you less and less. I didn't know that you were getting sick and how serious it got. I missed seeing and talking to you. This spring, with a little extra time on my hands, I started writing up a storm. Each day that I would sit down to write, I thought about you and all our conversations about writing and telling stories, and your words, "What are you writing, Karo?" resounding in my head as if to say, "Go on now, get writing!!"

A few weeks before you passed, my thoughts about you swelled so big that I decided to text you. I was sitting at one of my favourite secluded beach spots down at Kits, you know, down the big staircase, turn left and there's a big rock that acts as an entry to the beach that houses graffiti of LOVE up the cliff-like rock wall. I sat there that warm afternoon, writing in my journal and thinking about you, my grateful-ness to you and our friendship. I felt an intense nagging need to reach out to you. In our text exchange, I learned that you were suddenly sick, but I somehow already sensed that in my urgency to connect. I regret that I didn't see you before you seemed to decline so quickly. I thought about you daily after our exchange, that same nagging feeling to connect because even though your messages were positive and filled with strength, there was a tone of realistic unease and concern for a body that had always been so strong and healthy. I wonder if in your mind you felt like something was coming. I'm happy that in our last exchange I was able to tell you about the writing I've been doing and what I am working toward. You were the voice that was in the back of my mind guiding me through. You are one of a few people I would entrust with my writing, particularly in its early stages. I felt so honoured that you agreed to read what I had spent so much of the spring writing. I was so excited to show it to you, but I hesitated too long to send it and I wasn't sure how much energy you really had, as even though you shared your Browning quote for my sake, you alluding to heaven made me feel like maybe you were writing it out for yourself, too. You wrote that you were a great believer in Browning's, "One's aim must exceed one's grasp, else what's a heaven for...?"

I learned in your celebration of life that you don't believe in an after-life. I have felt your presence strongly after your passing and however one might want to explain it, I feel like you are watching down on me and still acting as that Linda "Beautiful" Light -- an ever present guiding light.

You are a part of my chosen family. I feel honoured that you came and celebrated kid birthday parties with us. I feel honoured that you didn't hesitate to call us when you or your family needed help or support. I feel honoured that you would read my work and engage in my artful expressions.

I'll miss you for your friendship, your wisdom, your laughter and the depths you were happy to enter with me. I think we were able to see some parallels in each other, some that only we could understand. I felt honoured that you chose to sit beside me so many times and when I would inevitably come away feeling empowered and understood.

For some reason, my mind keeps coming back to a memory of a time before we had become friends and before I knew where you lived. There is a tree at the park across from your property that I've always loved to climb. I would often perch myself on the end of the long thick branch and read or write, sometimes just look out at the park and ponder. One day, I set off for my tree with a book in hand and climbed it happily only to find someone else sitting atop the tree with a large book, reading away. I was startled not expecting someone to be sitting up there and he was startled, unsure of why I would be climbing this tree. We had a short exchange where he shared that his name was Severin and that his grandmother lived across the street and gave him the fantastical book he was reading, in his spot, where he regularly read in that tree. He spoke some more about this incredible grandma. Now, I have this strong feeling that may actually have been Jaya. Even then, climbing down that tree, I thought to myself how I would want to be like the grandma he spent our time together describing. She sounded so cool!

I think you will always be a guiding light for me -- a role model and mentor and someone I would like to be more like as a mother and a future grandmother. Your family is so lucky to have had you to support them so unwaveringly, the way you did!

You will be missed but, I believe, your spirit of everything you stand for, will live on.

Thank you for all the time you devoted to me and in building a community with us. You are a very special person!

Love,

Karo

PS. And 'Yes', I did water my tomatoes with my grey water this year!