|My dear, dear friend Conseula Francis.|
I can't believe it. I can't see her as gone. How does this happen? How do I reconcile myself to a world she doesn't inhabit? Is it fair for me to have those thoughts?
I've been thinking all day about Conseula's death, but I don't need to share some of those thoughts. Much of what I'm thinking is about myself, and I don't want to talk about my own issues today.
I want to speak with Conseula. Who is gone. Who is no longer here.
Conseula was wonderfully fierce and pushy. She was funny, even when she was pissed off. Sometimes, especially when she was pissed off. Conseula worried about her children and their future. Even in the midst of her own problems, she always, always made time for her friends.
Ten years ago, Conseula and I left a meeting together. The meeting was about tenure and promotion, and it left us sobbing and terrified. So, we formed a writing group with Claire, and years of writing and research productivity followed. All of us became full professors and the best of friends.
I love Conseula. I already miss her deeply, terribly. Someday I will comprehend that she is gone. But not today. Not yet.