Badger's husband lost his year-long struggle with cancer on Monday, August 29th. Now those of us who have gotten to know Badger -- through the beautifully worded insights she shares in "Badgerings" -- grieve with her and her 12 year old son.
As I've said before, your generous contributions permitted the Badger family to afford hospice during the final days. And the knowledge and care of hospice staff and volunteers made it possible for Mr. Badger to be at home rather than in the hospital when he died. Thank you.
People have asked whether the fund for the Badger family will continue to be active -- it will. Contributions are welcome.
Thank you to the many people (30 last time I looked) who have spread the word about the fund, via posts on their blogs, even as they donated themselves.
Several people have contacted me privately with questions or ideas for special donations. A few days ago, Yankee Transplant asked if I would forward a handmade card to Badger's home address. "Of course," I told her. What a beautiful idea.
Today, I'd like to extend that invitation to any of you who'd like to send a card -- something for Badger to hold in her hands -- a concrete addition to your virtual hugs, emails and blog comments. If you'd like to send a card, mail it to my office address, mark on the outside that it is for Badger, and I'll put it in another envelope (unopened of course) and forward it to her.
Send cards to:
Mary McKinney 1506 East Franklin St. Suite 202 Chapel Hill, NC 27514
We'll send cards... however, like Scrivener, I really wish is that we could all drop by with lasagna, garden flowers, hugs, and shared tears.
I want to close with the ee cummings poem that Dorcasina posted in response to Badger's loss -- an especially poignant tribute given that Dorcasina's young husband is also struggling with cancer. How wonderful that we have a community that has allowed Dorcasina and Badger to find and support one another.
one's not half two. It's two are halves of one:
which halves reintegrating, shall occur
no death and any quantity;but than
all numerable mosts the actual more
minds ignorant of stern miraculous
this every truth-beware of heartless them
(given the scalpel,they dissect a kiss;
or,sold the reason,they undream a dream)
one is the song which fiends and angels sing:
all murdering lies by mortals told make two.
Let liars wilt, repaying life they're loaned;
we (by a gift called dying born) must grow
deep in dark least ourselves remembering
love only rides his year.
All lose,whole find