As she became more homebound, I would bend my rule about always disconnecting from technology when I was in Nature. I would call or text her and attempt to share the experience I was having. I texted her when I was bouncing on a bog mat looking at native orchids. One morning, I spent a few hours sitting on the duff of a cedar stand listening to the waves of Lake Michigan striking the shore. I ended my meditation with a short "Linda call." My last text to her was in mid-July last year. I wrote, “Professor, If you listen to the trunk of an aspen, when the breeze blows, it sounds as if rain is falling.” The next morning she responded, “I was sound asleep when the ‘you have a message’ arrived and the notification ping woke me up. I must have stayed awake long enough to absorb the message, because I remember my dream last night consisted of being alone in a forest of aspens. I could walk and breathe, and I had a feeling of peace. Maybe it’s a sign.”
Linda, even now, I don’t know if it was a sign.
I do know that you changed my life and I am richer for having known you.
Thank you for all you did for me. I miss you.