|But if die a little farther along, I'm trusting everyone to carry on|
With profound regret we mark the passing of Lynn Larrivee on December 26, 2008.
From the beginning of Eargazm, Lynn has played an irreplaceable role as the producer, the engine and the heart and soul of this enterprise.
We have already spoken of our debt to her on her principle web page, but that seems inadequate now. As we try to surpress our grief and carry on, this page will expand with further testimonials.
May you all find such friends in your own lives, and show them the love they deserve.
"Always try to remember the good stuff"
It's some of the best advice anyone could hear at a time like this.
And we should. We should remember all the good stuff this time too.
Not the sickness.
Not the bitter feelings.
Not that image of a sick person in the hospital.
We should remember that sarcastic, quick to laugh, adventurous girl who ran away to California at 17.
We should remember that lover of music, the one who brought the likes of Frank Zappa into our lives.
We should remember the person who could name, or at least recognize any actor in any role regardless of how much makeup they were wearing.
We should remember the walking "Reality Check" that she personified.
We should remember the wild, yet down to earth woman who didn't sugar coat anything
For my own part, I'm going to remember that irreverent hippie girl that I fell in love with way back when.
The one who hitchhiked to Ventura, California and Berkeley with me.
The one who seemed more at home in the hills than she did in the cities.
The one who was there to comfort me when Dad died.
The one whose last words to me were "I love you"
That's the good stuff.
That's what I'm going to remember.
How can it be true? On November 1st, 60 days ago, we were singing along to Joe Jackson's lyrics at Lupo's.
Now she's gone -- Lynn; the movie expert, Simpsons afficiondo, true friend, music lover, acerbic wit -- the glue that held Eargazm together. I can't believe it myself.
But it's true, sad to say. Life isn't fair, but "you play the hand you're dealt", as they say. Lynn got a bad hand, but she kept her grace and sense of humor until the very end.
Christmas will never be the same for me now -- a sad milestone in the measurement of life. But I will keep her memory alive in my "heart of hearts" -- laughing, dancing, singing along -- she'll forever be alive to me.
Because I am a cynic, I've always believed that the every person is alone in this world. I've believed that love is an illusion that eases the burden of this isolation; grief, a frightened reaction to our own mortality; and religion, a soothing fairy tale intended to insulate us from the pain and horror.
Because I am a stoic, I've accepted this joyless view and shouldered this weight in quiet desperation.
But occasionally a light shines through my grim facade. That light is love in its purest form: unsexual, unselfish, unabashed. In that light my stoic cynicism withers.
Lynn was a blazing beacon of such light. That she chose to beam that light directly into my heart is an honor and privilege that I will be grateful for as long as I live. That I was able to help her carry some of her own burden provides me with the cold satisfaction of a heartfelt labor unfinished and a debt only partially repaid.
A couple of days after Lynn's death I felt compelled to write a poem, of sorts, for her. I am no poet, but these words arose in my dark heart on their own. After all, sweet roses bloom in the foulest soil:
Everyone has friends.
I only have a few.
And none as precious
as my dearest friend Lynn
to whom I've bared my soul.
If only the Love she has given me
could heal the hole in my heart
caused by her sudden absence.
Against my heartbreak
I can only hope it is true
that Love is Stronger than Death
(I refer to a song, Love is Stronger than Death, by one of Lynn’s favorite artists, The The. It says what I feel far more eloquently than I'm able to.)