Tuesday, November 15, 2016
Words never adequately express feelings, especially when they are words of condolence. Kim would understand exactly how limited words are as a conveyance for such feelings. Her art is proof.
I had to be very careful about selection of friends, because of my profession. There were not many people with whom I could be off-guard. Kim was one. She became a friend, along with others in what I came to think of as "the crew," and she continues to be my friend, although now only in non-corporeal form.
There is a little room in my head where friends exist. I can visit them any time. I can continue interrupted conversations. I can recall with them memories that caused laughter, tears, sometimes anger. I can almost, though not quite, feel their handshakes, and hugs, and New Year's kisses at midnight. Kim is there.
Her wicked wit made me laugh. Her knowledge, particularly of art and artists and museums, engaged and challenged me. She argued well and stood her ground. I found her politics almost entirely agreeable -- a rare thing for me. She almost always brought flowers to every gathering of the crew. She always brought a certain merriment that raised spirits.
All of us will look at the door sometime after the last person has arrived for yet another gathering, expecting her to come in a little late, as she usually did. We will expect to see her with flowers in her hand and a gentle smile on her face. She will always be in our heads.
She was my friend.
