It is with indescribable sadness that I inform my readers of the passing of my love, my muse, Bobbie Morgan, on November 18, 2015. She inspired many of the stories in these pages. I am sure that, even though she is no longer here, she will inspire many more.
Her memorial service is today, November 22, 2015. This is her eulogy.
For Bobbie Marie Morgan
Bobbie and I met 20 years ago. I was one of the organizers of an online support group providing help and advice for parents facing certain challenges. We became online friends in that context, and soon discovered a shared passion for writing. She was a reporter, while I was a writer of fiction. We often corresponded about writing, sharing our work with each other.
Our friendship grew into one of mutual respect, then of affection.
As often happens, we lost touch after a couple of years. By happy circumstance, we reconnected three years ago. Our warm friendship, rekindled, blossomed into a love that grew over those three years.
I will always remember Bonnie’s grace, her keen intelligence, her good humor. She was fiercely devoted to her two sons—and when she became grandmother to Jackson, she called me. She was positively giddy with happiness and pride. It was her nature to share joy, rather than hoard it.
But most of all, I will remember and be thankful for her generosity of spirit and for the love we shared. She enhanced the life of every person she came into contact with—even those she would never meet in person.
My life has been forever changed in knowing and loving Bobbie. I am very thankful that the the last words we said to each other were “I love you.” We both knew that those words, so often spoken casually, a sort of social formula, were absolutely, literally true for us.
Bobbie worked in the coldly objective world of journalism, but she loved poetry. Many times, when we were so far apart, I would read to her, late at night. Her favorite was this work of Kenneth Rexroth. I think it describes her very well.
Let me celebrate you. I
Have never known anyone
More beautiful than you. I
Walking beside you, watching
You move beside me, watching
That still grace of hand and thigh,
Watching your face change with words
You do not say, watching your
Solemn eyes as they turn to me,
Or turn inward, full of knowing,
Slow or quick, watching your full
Lips part and smile or turn grave,
Watching your narrow waist, your
Proud buttocks in their grace, like
A sailing swan, an animal,
Free, your own, and never
To be subjugated, but
Abandoned, as I am to you,
Overhearing your perfect
Speech of motion, of love and
Trust and security as
You feed or play with your children.
I have never known any
One more beautiful than you.
Resquiat in pace, my love.