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