I could not get Sandy out of my head for the rest of the evening. I wrote in this journal for awhile in a hammock in our back yard, listening to music at the same time. That helped, but I knew I was only keeping the feelings at bay. Then I began making dinner. Thoughts of Sandy hit hard. I didn't want to turn on the radio, which might have chased the thoughts away, because I really did want to think about her.

I thought about some of the rough times she seemed to have had in the past few years; losing an ex-husband to an accident; gaining a permanent limp from a skiing accident; being forcibly removed from her position as manager of a group and shoved off to the side; being a controversial character in our division. I did not know what else, good or bad, might have happened to her recently.

I thought about how she'd probably had plans for today before she laid down to go to sleep last night. Mike had told my on instant messenger that Sandy had kids, but didn't know whether they were still at home. I tried to imagine how the discovery of her death might have unfolded; whether her children had discovered her first. I wondered how the memorial service had been planned so quickly, since she had supposedly died over night. I wondered how the head of our division had known soon enough to have sent out a mass e-mail which was time-stamped sometime shortly after 1:00 p.m. today.

When Ian's grandmother Ann Jones had died a few months ago, I'd had the distinct feeling that I'd wanted the world to stop everything it was doing for just one moment in respect for the dead. But of course traffic continued flowing, people went about their lives, and only those of us who knew Ann acknowledged her death in any way. I had the same feeling for Sandy - I wanted the world just to stop for awhile and catch its breath, and to say good-bye to Sandy.

Finally, I turned the radio on for distraction, since I just couldn't keep thinking about this. During dinner, however, I felt subdued, and wasn't much of a conversationalist. I could not think about anything but Sandy. Ian and I had planned to watch a rented movie after dinner, so I had about a half-hour to kill until then. Still thinking about Sandy, I thought I'd go onto the screened-in porch and listen to some music. At first I could not turn the music on. I felt the tears come. Then I realized that what I needed was a Requiem for Sandy.

I played Faure's Requiem on my headphones, and just soaked in the music. The majesty of the piece felt perfect. The acoustics suggested that the piece had been recorded in a cathedral. A pipe-organ was a major component of the orchestra, and the overall mood was church-y. I felt as though a full orchestra, organist, choir, and cathedral had been given to Sandy tonight. After the first movement, it was time for us to watch the movie. I felt at last like I was able to let go of Sandy, as if I'd said good-bye and could now move on.

Previous: Learning of Her Death

Next: The Public Mourning

Table of Contents: The Death and Mourning of Sandy Colombo