Tuesday, March 28, 2017

no phones there

We mourn those we loved and who died. Time goes by and a lid covers the hole of that loss.

But then something triggers a memory. We see something that we would like to share with that person and that lid is set ajar.

It happened to me today with a New York Times article on gospel singer Kirk Franklin.

My friend of 40 years, Barbara Hagaman, gone over two years, was in the Argelès Gospel Choir. I know the idea of a French gospel is strange, but they were good, really good even if their English pronunciation was a bit strange.

Barbara loved the choir passionately, but hated the gospel of Franklin. She put up with it to sing the songs she loved.

My immediate reaction, when I saw the article, was to hop out of bed and walk down the street and show her. Only she's not there. There is a plaque in the local cemetery where her ashes were scattered.

She's not there either.

I can't reach her by phone, email, snail mail or Facebook. The only place I can find her is in my heart.

A musical tribute by the gospel choir leader Alain Martin captures her spirit and the place she loved.

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