Yesterday, I was walking around Siegler Lake at Big Rock Forest Preserve when I came upon a family. A little girl had a large black stuffed animal strapped to her back. “From behind, I thought you were a bear,” I joked. We laughed as I passed them.
Then I cried. The bear-child reminded me of my prankster bonus daughter, Sarah Ann. The path around the small lake was like a labyrinth. I circled inward, becoming less aware of the wooded path outside and more in touch with the grieving, tangled mess in my heart.
In 2006, my kids and I moved into a house on Center Street. Sarah lived five houses west. One day after school, the train was stopped on the tracks between the school and home. Sarah showed Johna how easy it was to crawl under the train instead of waiting for it to move. I was terrified by this bold advice and the fact that Johna followed it. I determined that they would not be friends.
The joke was on me. Sarah claimed Johna as her best friend, Claire as her baby sister, and then found her way swiftly into my heart– Johna and Claire made room, and that was that. I had three daughters.
Sarah was a joker, the ringleader. I found the girls on the roof of our 3-story home more than once. I discovered them “going for a walk” with a 5-gallon bucket, rope, flashlights, and a shovel. They found an uncovered utility hole and were going to search for the underground railroad.
The kids helped with our guests. Our home was loud and fun because there was always a lot going on. Sarah adored sitting down as a family for meals and didn’t shy away from any part of the prep or clean up.
Punishments were usually task-oriented. I don’t remember the crime, but I gave Johna and Sarah each a five-gallon bucket with instructions to fill it with the walnuts that littered the yard. When I checked on them, I discovered them singing made-up “slave songs” loudly for the neighbors to hear.
Sarah put an autocorrect in my phone and then erased it so that I couldn’t change it. She replaced You with Roy. My texts read: I love Roy. I’ll see Roy soon.
Sarah was smart, funny, bold, proud, loyal, brave and creative. Sarah also had cancer. I remember the exact moment that I realized that I loved her. I was sitting in my car at the corner of Center and Main. “This is going to hurt,” I thought.
I was right.
Sarah Ann Newman died October 5th 2023, at 7:40 am.
And here we are. I circle this little lake, a quarry filled with water to cover the wound from years of digging. How appropriate it seems for me to be pacing around a deep wound. Tears streaming. Snot flowing. My emotions cracked open like a huge raw egg. My heart pounds, and my throat constricts. My brain is a jumble of words and emotions. I gulp for air as my body convulses with grief. Love. This is Love. This is the cost.
Dear Sweet Sarah, I always introduced you as my daughter because I wanted you to know how much I loved you. I was blessed to be a landing place for you. My heart overflowed when you asked me to walk with you and your dad at Parent’s Night in high school. One of my greatest joys was to speak at your wedding. Now, I have the monumental honor of preparing a eulogy. No one asked me. I have to.
Thank you for being such a bright star in our lives and showing us how to live a brave and passionate life. Thank you for teaching us that love is worth the pain and for sharing your precious, so very short life with us. You will be forever in my heart.
Sarah Ann, I love Roy.
Love you Bonus Mom.
I love you too Mama. I hope you are adjusting and look forward to seeing you soon <3
This is so beautiful .. yesterday .. I circled “our mountain” a journey taken each year .. for my brother kip – who I hope has the pleasure and fortunate advantage of meeting sarah ann .. looking down on us in wonder from the realm beyond the stars yet right here amongst us .. i read a mary oliver poem yesterday that i just love too .. for my brother but most of us for all of us partaking in this sacred precious moment on november 12, 2023 .. much love to roy!
The Poet Dreams of the Mountain
by Mary Oliver
Sometimes I grow weary of the days, with all their fits and starts.
I want to climb some old gray mountain, slowly, taking
the rest of my lifetime to do it, resting often, sleeping
under the pines or, above them, on the unclothed rocks.
I want to see how many stars are still in the sky
that we have smothered for years now, a century at least.
I want to look back at everything, forgiving it all,
and peaceful, knowing the last thing there is to know.
All that urgency! Not what the earth is about!
How silent the trees, their poetry being of themselves only.
I want to take slow steps, and think appropriate thoughts.
In ten thousand years, maybe, a piece of the mountain will fall.
I will cherish this Lilianna. Sarah Ann and Kip. She loved the Sylvia Plath Fig poem. I read it at her wedding in celebration of her choosing Nick as her fig.
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story.
From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked.
One fig was a husband and a happy home and children,
and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor,
and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America,
and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions,
and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion,
and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out.
I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death,
just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose.
I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest,
and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black,
and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
I am so grateful for you.
<3
Please accept my condolences.
I’m sure Sarah is with you always.
Thank you Roberta <3