A friend of mine died recently. A sister, daughter, mother, beloved of many in my community.
I say my community like there’s just one, but truth is I’m part of many communities. We all are. And we are all also one community. The air we breathe is all the same, and all the water on Earth is already here. There’s no more coming, least that we know of, and I think it’s best to operate like we’ve been blessed by this mystery, instead of searching for whatever we think might save us.
It’s ok to leave room for mystery. It’s essential, actually. But it’s wise to acknowledge our limits. Kate did that. She invited people into her potential death within a year very openly, and she invited people into the end of her story, announcing the end was near and inviting people to come for a visit.
What if she hadn’t acknowledged the limits of her body and what was coming?
I can’t say I know everything that could have happened, but one thing I can say for sure, is we would have lost the opportunity for our hearts to break in real time, letting our love flow toward her to carry her down one of the rivers she loved.
I don’t know which river that is, only she does.
But I know where the river ends. Hold a shell to your ear. Can you hear it?
She was only 42.
Single mother by choice of two five year old twin girls.
I’m sharing a Gofundme link for those who would like to financially contribute to supporting Kate’s daughters, and this poem I wrote inspired by another community where I heard the phrase “watering the fire” spoken and knew immediately they wanted to be a poem about Kate.
I wish she hadn’t gone, but what a way to go. In a strange way, I feel blessed by my own tears.
Here’s the link:
Support Kate Dietz's daughters
Watering the Fire In a red dress, kicking up the dust in red heels, way sexier than Dorothy, but kind of like her, too, you were always the first one on the dance floor. Maybe that’s not true, but it’s how I remember you. It was easy to imagine you being lifted by a tornado and deposited in Oz, where you’d get to work helping the scarecrow realize he wasn’t so empty-headed after all, the lion find his courage, and of course, return the Tin Man to his beating heart. Just think of all the love he must have felt when the Wicked Witch of the West’s curse broke, the hot blood conducted lightning-quick to his surface. To touch him would have burned. That’s the kind of love we’re talking about. Hiding, not an option. Burn it all down. There’s no place like home. Once we rode a train, two buses, and a van to a camp in the Maine woods where you asked me to sing really loud into your ear because you had to take your hearing aids out so they wouldn’t melt when we ducked and crawled into the sweat lodge. I’d never realized till that moment, there were things you couldn’t hear that I could. You were so willing to go into the dark without a song. Steam hissed when water met rocks heated red by the prayer of fire returning innocence before going dark in a pile of ashes. I sang so loud veins in my throat burst. I think I was way more scared than you. You would probably laugh and say I’m making this way too complicated, write something clear and simple like fingers plucking notes on a sitar, but we both know how much practice that takes, how hands must bleed for those notes to be clear enough to reach the moon. You loved rivers the way a baby loves its mother, not wondering where the water comes from. —in memory of Kate Dietz
Kō aloha lā ea
Concentrate on love by way of the light
Aloha, Jen! Touched by your beautiful images, like "Steam hissed when water met rocks heated red
by the prayer of fire returning innocence" -- I was moved to see Kate rising as that steam to a realm that is also returning her/our innocence. I wanted to call to express my condolences about your loss but could not find a phone number. I also would like to ask a few questions about your bodywork and substack. 808-345-0050 is my number. Would love for you to come to Saturday's Love Continuum. No pressure, only opportunity! Blessings on All!
Blessings on her spirit and the paths of her daughters and all who remain that love her.
May we all be so fortunate to have a friend ignite a poem of remembering for us, this was beautiful, thank you, and gentle hugs your way as the waves come in to shore.