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29555Tribute (or, It's pouring over and needs out)

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  • Rosine
    Mar 1, 2003
      Oh, Finnr...

      I was sitting with four of your friends when the call came. I'm so glad that
      Mairghread had a chance to take the call privately and grieve alone before
      she came into the room to tell us.

      I told my sons. They took the news in their own way - Zackory got
      tight-voiced over the phone then quietly said he'd call the kids from "Mazer
      School" to tell them. Years ago, Finnr taught them how to haggle and how to
      work leather - and showed them again how an honest man is someone who
      Respect never abandons. Shawn went from a laughing excited young man bidding
      his houseguests farewell to an angry, hurt boy - I found him in the living
      room with the TV on but he was sitting in a chair staring at nothing. He had
      one of Finnr's cups in his hand.

      We sat the night until dawn, Shawn and I, and watched the world sleep. We
      couldn't be by Finnr, or even Karin, but we could watch anyway... we talked
      rarely. He stayed in one room and I in the other and he'd come to me every
      hour or so and give me a hug, as if to reassure himself that I was real. And
      to give me a tummy to cry into when I melted again in my chair as he stood
      beside me.

      Finnr saved cups for me. He knew how much I loved pottery and how often my
      friends and family broke my drinking mug. So he'd find wonderful cups and
      mugs and hunt me at each event out if I'd not found him early on - so I
      could have first chance at them... they're all over my house, the ones that
      are unbroken. Most are too small to really use for drinking at an event but
      they are unique and beautiful. And each one has a memory tag attached with a
      certain day on it...each one with his presence so clearly felt.

      It was a habit of mine, to check the merchant area right after troll and see
      if Finnr and Karin were in yet. His face was one I always looked for and I
      begrudged any event with no merchanting because I knew I'd miss him.

      We shared books. We teased back and forth and demanded hostages for the
      really good ones, but always just handed them over - because he knew so very
      well that knowledge is a gift best shared. I meant to let him borrow my
      Motke book and sent it to him, but he sent it back because he didn't have
      enough time for it just then. Oh, James... if only we'd known. But then -
      where you are, my friend, you can talk to the writer, so I guess I shouldn't
      feel bad about the book.

      We shared sorrows too - for losses, for friends turned into strangers, for a
      friend so unexplainedly alien to who we thought we knew.

      He loved my sons. He loved my husband. And he loved me - and I think
      everyone he came in contact with, everywhere. He was a simple, gleeful,
      deceptively deep man. I can't think of the future because I don't know how
      to see it without him in it.

      Lo, my brother, I see you waiting...

      And I will find you again in joy.

      (sorry, but for some reason, I needed to share that. Hope y'all don't mind
      too much.)