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Last summer, or maybe it was spring, my friend Veronica Griego died in a bad car wreck. It was raining really hard and she ran her car off the road. I remember Susan calling me to tell me it had happened. I was numb from losing Mike and could only listen as Susan cried. I tried to help her though, and I did feel saddened, but the full force of that loss wasn't felt until last week. All of a sudden I felt it, surging through my body. This sadness. Another friend lost.
Veronica was one of those people persons. She always had a story to tell. She could get along with just about anyone. (Though I remember a particular stage manager who came to do a show with us that none of us got along with, and Veronica was not an exception.)
Veronica brought me tulips for my birthday when we had tech rehearsals that day. She came out of the snow into the theatre and just placed the vase in front of me on my table. It spawned in me a desire to have flowers in my house regularly.
The one thing that comes back to me about Veronica is her voice. Her voice was crystal clear. She spoke well. She was multi lingual. That translation ability sometimes got in the way in her work with me, but because I loved her, I worked around it. Her voice had a beautiful timbre. She would talk a lot, but she was really smart, so it wasn't too annoying. She should have done radio.
Here is the last email I got from her. I wonder how it is with her.
"As always,
my prayers to you and all of yours. I am sorry about Michael's departure, although as a buddhist catholic... I am pretty certain that he's rompin' about in a plane that allows him to be happy and free from pains of the flesh, just waitin' to pop back in on all of us... maybe as a favorite cat or pup.
Love you.
Veronica"
1 comment:
It was spring. April 8th, to be exact. I remember it well, because this year, it fell on Easter Sunday, which prompted the inevitable thoughts of life, death, resurrection, and joy.
I sure do miss Marichan (or Veronica, or Ronnie, or Ron, or whatever other folks called her). Did she speak well? I've never heard that before, although that's a valid observation. She did talk, a lot. She always did, you know.
There's an old zen koan that goes something like this: A Zen master was asked by a rich patron to write a beautiful and joyful calligraphic icon for his new, lavish home. The Zen master considered this for several weeks, then delivered the finished wall hanging. It read, "Father dies. Son Dies. Grandson dies."
The rich patron was outraged. "How could you deliver such a negative message, when I asked you to write something beautiful and joyous?"
The Zen master apologized, and then pointed out the following; "When deaths in the family occur in the order in which I've written, it is the proper order, and implies orderly, beautiful lives. When deaths of the father, son, or grandson occur in any other order, it is not harmonious, and implies great sorrow. So you see, my message is one of harmony, and great joy."
Peace,
Joe Griego
joe@squish.us
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