|Posted on Monday, January 03, 2005 - 08:22 am: |
From Sunday's ARIZONA REPUBLIC:
"Some of the survivors are now living with the worst possible guilt: of having chosen among their children. A healthy child over a sick one. A bright one over a slow one. The sea allowed them to hold on to one or two of their children; the rest were dragged away (by the current) screaming for their parents, their eyes showing the anguish of experiencing that final betrayal."
— Indian Author Suketu Mehta
Having spent (as a few of you are aware) the midpart of December facing the prospect of losing our own daughter (an infection in her eye, which could not be controlled, and which killed three other children in this area this year), reading the passage above is almost crippling.
During the week my daughter was hospitalized, she was comfortable, cared for around the clock, and relatively happy, not having a clue why all of the adults were so worried.
An acquaintance of mine sent me an email a couple of years ago, giving an account of a car accident his family had just witnessed, in which someone died. The effect on him was immediate and substantial, as the written account was for me, and is still. And the emotion evoked was for a complete stranger.
I've felt glimmers of the same as accident and chance spared several friends and associates this year (Gardner, Mike Bishop, and one of the artists in residence at Coppervale), but my daughter's scare, followed by the incomprehensible events in Asia, evoke responses of the same kind my friend felt witnessing that accident.
Every moment with people we care about is too precious to waste.
Responsibilities are responsibilities, and must still be attended to - but I now have a work area at home in the kids' playroom, and they both have play tables set up in my office. They should have been there all along.
|Posted on Monday, January 10, 2005 - 12:53 pm: |
Amen. A message of real import, and not just in the aftermath of a death, an accident, or a crushing tsunami. Good on you, as we (sometimes) say down here in Harris County, Georgia.
|Posted on Monday, January 10, 2005 - 02:36 pm: |
Thanks, Mike. Hope you're well, and any recovery continues apace.
(The artist in Residence I referred to is the Apache author/illustrator Mike LaCapa. Talking around the studio that week about 'Did you hear? Mike (...) was in an accident..." became more sobering when we all realized we'd been talking about two different people - him and YOU. LaCapa had actually stopped behind a DPS vehicle which had stopped for another accident. The car behind Mike didn't stop. He's had two surgeries, and was in a drug-induced coma to let his spine get a breather, but he seems to be out of the woods.)
Here's to a good year for us all.
|Posted on Wednesday, March 16, 2005 - 08:17 am: |
I just received word that Mike LaCapa has died.
He was our first Artist in Residence at the Coppervale Studio - the first artist invited to work here, just to have him around as an influence. He was the Apache Mark Twain - a gifted storyteller, author, artist, lecturer, father, and friend.
I wish I'd spent more time visiting in the last few months - but like everyone else, we took his recovery for granted.
Tell your friends you love them, your enemies you forgive them, your influences that they inspired you. Because while it may not seem vital now, it will when they're no longer here.
|Posted on Tuesday, August 23, 2005 - 05:01 pm: |
I found the courage today to "google" my honey's (Michael Lacapa) name. I have found so many beautiful sentiments about his life and his impact on others that I've been weeping the past two hours. I miss him with a pain that is without words. To everyone who loved and appreciated him, "Ah shont" Thank-you
|Posted on Thursday, August 25, 2005 - 11:48 am: |
You're welcome, Kathy.
With much affection,
|Posted on Sunday, September 18, 2005 - 01:59 am: |
I just did the same Kathy. It's nice to see just how much Muggers influenced not only the family, but people everywhere. It's 1:55 a.m. & I keep reading more and more. I'm glad we were a part of his life to the end. We all miss him. Our thoughts & prayers are with you and the kids daily.
Love you all, Jay, Renae & Ryan