When I wrote about Heather Mains in the posting below (Another Library Gone), I did it from the sorrow of an exile. I had been hearing about gatherings of Heather’s friends in Toronto where stories about her had been shared. But I was in Boston, a candle burning of one. But the comments left by many of her friends on this blog, sharing thier own stories and impressions of her life, created a unique circle of Heather storytelling. Reading these words has been deeply comforting to me. Thank you to all of you who left your thoughts and have created this cyber-proximity with me.
Below is the text from one of the last emails several of us received from Heather. I read it over and over again. Written just four days before she died, it captures some essence of Heather that I want to keep with me for the rest of my life.
I got up a few times last night to view the beautiful eclipse of the full moon.
It was very strange to see, what looked like a moon lit from below, was actually a shadow coming down from the top. It set in a shadowy veil. Wow.
When I went back to bed at 6am, it was turning orange.
I finished the cycle of the eclipse in my dream.
Heather (the purple flower in the green field)
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