I
greatly respected and admired Sarah. She was one the first people
who influenced me as part of what came to be the "quintessential
Outhouse crew" my first semester at Whitman. She was also instrumental
in one of my most important experiences at Whitman—creating
EEK (Environmental Education for Kids). She was one of the three
founding members who actually showed up to meetings and spent hours
inhaling toxic marker fumes so we could brainwash small children
into "saving the planet". I have many other memories of
Sarah, from being a timid sophomore invited to her apartment for
vegan potlucks to sharing the joy of "forcing" our crap
onto our friends at the White Elephant party last December.
Sarah was a wonderful person who had the amazing combination of
insatiable playfulness and a desire to address real issues. I hope
that I may always remember these qualities in her that I admired
so much and that she will inspire me to be the same.
My
enduring image of Sarah is her walking out of Prentiss with a carton
full of newspapers, hair (probably a tad greasy) hidden under a
blue bandana...with a look of such happiness, such pleasure on her
face, to be up on a Sunday morning with all of us. Her face, her
smile, the way she would give little pecks on the cheek with her
small, smiling lips...unforgettable.
If
it's appropriate, the following Mary Oliver poem would be my contribution
…
When Death Comes
When
death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to
buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox;
when
death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I
want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering: what
is
it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And
therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and
I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and
each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending, as all music does, toward silence,
and
each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When
it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was a bridegroom, taking the world in my arms.
When
it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I
don't want to end up simply having visited this world.
