Sophie

Susan emailed last night to tell me of her daughter Sophie's passing and the circumstances that lead to it. Sophie was in her early-thirties, the author of many personal struggles, the kind that add years to the lives of those who carry them, similar to the way scholars carry books, or slaves their masters. 

Sophie made an impression on me during my 2010 visit to the islands of Haida Gwaii, one that has stayed with me long after my return to the mainland. I cannot begin to imagine her life, but I sense her mortal struggle, the energy it required of her and the incredible strength she brought to it.

I felt this strength the moment we met, and it sharpened my perception of the islands as we walked into town from Copper Beech House, taking the beach path back, where we picked sea asparagus, and Sophie spotted agates like an eagle spots a salmon from a hundred feet up.

Some years later, after hearing from Adele that Sophie was having a difficult time, I walked downtown not to look for her, but to be present for her, energetically present, in the same way our energies combined on that walk, and over dinner with the inn's other guests, the Belgians, whom she charmed, of course. At one point I got weepy and leaned against a building. A cop walked up and asked if I was using. I laughed because Sophie would have seen the path in that.

Sophie, like her father Stephen, are closest to that which many of us strive for. Susan fell in love with Stephen's writing in a way that led her to him, for completion. Sophie embodied a completion that is impossible for us to comprehend, let alone endure, because we are unwilling or unable to connect with that which leads to it, burdened as we are by the material world.

As spirits, Sophie and her father have always had it, which is why I speak of their spirits in the present. Sophie's gift is presence, improvisation, generosity and love. I will miss her, mourn her. For the rest of my life I will revel in her energy -- and presence! I can hardly wait to see her again.