I just learned that one of my closest friends from college passed away a couple of years ago.  My friends who knew her will understand why it took a couple of years for me to learn of her death.  She was a deeply private person, fiercely shy and slightly paranoid.  We lost touch after I finished graduate school, and once I was out of her inner circle for a little while, I could not locate her, not even with the miracle of search engines.  If you didn’t know her, you will probably never hear about her outside of this blog.  She left little evidence of her life, and the people who record history will not deem her achievements noteworthy.

But she was my friend, one of the closest I had during my most formative years.  She was one of my earliest fans, long before my talent warranted much support or encouragement.  She loved the Indigo Girls, Melissa Etheridge, and Chris Whitley.  She loved working logic puzzles and playing video games.  She was a technology junkie.  She loved all things Trek and had a deep passion for vampires.  She had a quirky sense of humor, an acerbic wit, and a big heart.  When I knew her, her two Siamese cats were her children, and she cared for them with patience and nurturing.

She took good care of me at a time when I was completely lost.  There were many days I would not have eaten if she had not bought me food, and there were a few nights I might not have survived if she had not held my head.  I wish we hadn’t lost touch with each other because she was a true friend, one of those rare people who didn’t judge me, didn’t condescend to me, and allowed me to explore my creative boundaries without hindrance.  I love her deeply and have thought of her often, especially after my children were born.  Even though she proclaimed to dislike children, for some reason I suspect she would have been an excellent aunt and would have loved mine as if they were her own.

I’m sure these few words don’t do justice to her life.  She was a good soul, albeit a little lost, and she deserves more than I can muster right now. 

Lisa Ross – November 11, 1964 to December 4, 2007