(no subject)
When someone gets the flu (any flu; seasonal or H1N1), you expect them to stay home a few days, rest, take in lots of fluid, and rest some more. In a worst case scenario, they might end up in the hospital but home soon.
You do not expect them to spend three weeks fighting for their life, and then slip away, carried home in the arms of valkyries. So, as I watched and waited for daily updates on Kolfinna, I kept waiting to see the post that said her O2 stats were finally good and she was off the machine and even back on her feet.
That update never came, of course. Now, a week later, I am still watching the site, hoping for info about a memorial or…something. I don’t know what. I keep going back hoping to see a change in that last horrible post announcing her time of death.
Thanks to the internet, I came to admire and respect a woman from 3000 miles away. She was vibrant, smart, a good fighter, and she had things to say that I needed and wanted to hear.
I can remember in 2005-2006, the last time I made a big push with my fighting, talking to her about coming back from injuries, how to better my health, how to stretch and grow stronger, and how to handle some of those normal female issues that make us different from men, without separating us from men. I remember printing out many of her articles and taking a walk over to the Capital every day for weeks, sitting and reading in the summer sunshine, absorbing her experience and her knowledge, both of fighting and of being a female who fights, though the printed page.
Her enthusiasm bled right though the ink. It bled through every picture of her. It showed in every forum post. Even when I disagreed with her (which at times I did), I still appreciated how she could formulate and back up her argument.
So here we are, a week later, and I find myself struggling with the turmoil her passing has created in me. I didn’t cry right away when the news came. It was too surprising and stunning, and at first, I spent more time just turning it over in my head before it began to really hurt in my heart. Tears did come, not in great overflowing rivers, but in lonely and occasional drips, but with them came a strong need to DO something.
What do you do when someone you knew solely via the internet is gone? It isn't like when Courtney passed away where at least I could grieve with friends locally, wear a ribbon in her memory, or go to her memorial service. There is just nothingness; a silence and an emptiness in a place I didn’t even know existed.
The only thing I could think to do, the only thing that seemed appropriate, was to go strap on my armour and go fight. It is what she would have expected, what she would have done. I armoured up and fought one-on-one fights for the first time since 2006; I didn’t wear my baronial colors, nor my household colors, but the colors I most strongly identify with at this point in my life. I fought for me. Not for the Barony nor for my household, but for my spirit, and in the back of my mind, for a woman who fought her last fight very bravely, and who I hope greeted the valkyries with the same enthusiasm and joy that she held in her earthly life.
You do not expect them to spend three weeks fighting for their life, and then slip away, carried home in the arms of valkyries. So, as I watched and waited for daily updates on Kolfinna, I kept waiting to see the post that said her O2 stats were finally good and she was off the machine and even back on her feet.
That update never came, of course. Now, a week later, I am still watching the site, hoping for info about a memorial or…something. I don’t know what. I keep going back hoping to see a change in that last horrible post announcing her time of death.
Thanks to the internet, I came to admire and respect a woman from 3000 miles away. She was vibrant, smart, a good fighter, and she had things to say that I needed and wanted to hear.
I can remember in 2005-2006, the last time I made a big push with my fighting, talking to her about coming back from injuries, how to better my health, how to stretch and grow stronger, and how to handle some of those normal female issues that make us different from men, without separating us from men. I remember printing out many of her articles and taking a walk over to the Capital every day for weeks, sitting and reading in the summer sunshine, absorbing her experience and her knowledge, both of fighting and of being a female who fights, though the printed page.
Her enthusiasm bled right though the ink. It bled through every picture of her. It showed in every forum post. Even when I disagreed with her (which at times I did), I still appreciated how she could formulate and back up her argument.
So here we are, a week later, and I find myself struggling with the turmoil her passing has created in me. I didn’t cry right away when the news came. It was too surprising and stunning, and at first, I spent more time just turning it over in my head before it began to really hurt in my heart. Tears did come, not in great overflowing rivers, but in lonely and occasional drips, but with them came a strong need to DO something.
What do you do when someone you knew solely via the internet is gone? It isn't like when Courtney passed away where at least I could grieve with friends locally, wear a ribbon in her memory, or go to her memorial service. There is just nothingness; a silence and an emptiness in a place I didn’t even know existed.
The only thing I could think to do, the only thing that seemed appropriate, was to go strap on my armour and go fight. It is what she would have expected, what she would have done. I armoured up and fought one-on-one fights for the first time since 2006; I didn’t wear my baronial colors, nor my household colors, but the colors I most strongly identify with at this point in my life. I fought for me. Not for the Barony nor for my household, but for my spirit, and in the back of my mind, for a woman who fought her last fight very bravely, and who I hope greeted the valkyries with the same enthusiasm and joy that she held in her earthly life.