Eulogy

It must be assumed that if you are reading this I have died. I was asked to write this eulogy as my final assignment for a Thanatology class in December 2022. I had initially wanted to just turn in a YouTube link for a video of Eileen Barton singing, “If I Knew You Were Comin' I'd've Baked a Cake”, but while that is a thing I would do, I opted to be thoughtful instead.

Believe it or not, writing about myself was always something I struggled with and even when I pulled it off, I was rarely happy with the results. I hope that this eulogy does not disappoint you, since it was written for your benefit. I also made certain that it does not read like a curriculum vitae, since I am sure my oft-neglected LinkedIn account is still accessible for those who only want to know me at the depth of a résumé. But we can visit a quick rundown of the highlights:

For decades, I was a healer in the realms of birthwork, reproductive justice, midwifery, herbalism, and holding space. I was a teacher in the realms of inclusive sex & sexuality education, gender inclusivity, social work, and cultural competency & humility. I was a mender in the realms of words, broken hearts, spiritual ennui, times of transition, and of holey woollens. I was published, given awards, praised, loved, and known by many. I was a constant thinker and forever contemplating the ineffable beauty and spark that connects everyone and everything. I was most definitely chaotic good with some spiciness thrown in, like mixing Skittles and M&Ms in the same jar. While I lived a rather public life, I was a deeply private person who found great intrigue in observing others in what they thought they knew about me.

You only knew what I wanted you to know.

And tea. How I loved a great cuppa tea. There was something in the performing of the ritual of making tea. A ritual that unites practically all peoples in all cultures around the world. I used to stand there in my kitchen, staring out the window, sighing deeply just thinking about the hundreds or maybe thousands of other people standing there with me around the world, inhaling the steam of their hot tea, about to take a sip. Magic resides in that pure moment between breaths. Oh, to feel that insignificant and mundane was incredible, everyday magic.

And I spent my life chasing, discovering, and recreating that feeling of insignificance like adrenaline-seekers chase the high of a free fall. Between two deep sighs, that was my rest and respite. Anything to feel tiny and insignificant yet still grounded and connected to everything. You likely have shared one of these magical moments with me as you sat deep in the woods alone with your eyes closed, spent hours in a hammock listening to autumnal birdsongs, found yourself in an empty cathedral with nothing but flickering candles, meandering through a snowy cemetery, lying on the ground staring up into space and bathing in the moonlight, whispering the Shema before you fell asleep, or deeply breathing in the steam of your hot tea before that first sip. We shared those moments. I was there. And it is in those moments that I continue to be.

Let’s have a moment to re-collect ourselves. Breathe in. Breathe out.

I often did not have strong opinions on mundane and everyday things, but I was sure to let anyone in range know my opinions when I had them, and oh were they stubbornly unwavering. I did not believe in absolutes with the exception of maths (and even with maths, I sometimes had my doubts). I thrived on nuance and found incredible beauty and humanity in the possibility of simultaneously holding two opposing ideas or positions. I did not support cancel culture, but neither did I encourage anyone to suffer toxic people and environments. I knew that behind every decision made by another, there was a world of experience, triumphs, joy, multitudes, and broken-heartedness, that I was not privy to. But also I knew that at our cores, each and every one of us is good. I knew that this Universe holds space for nuance, paradoxes, grey space, the nonbinary, the multitudes, and for twilight. Eilu v'eilu.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

This is the part where I am supposed to name significant and important people in my life, but if you were one of my favourites then you already know who you are and how I felt about you, for I was not stingy with my “I love yous.” We needn’t share our secrets with everyone. But to the one I have loved so deeply in this lifetime and in all other lifetimes, I will now share some Whitman with you:

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Out of the rolling ocean the crowd came a drop gently to me,

Whispering, I love you, before long I die,

I have travell’d a long way merely to look on you to touch you,

For I could not die till I once look’d on you,

For I fear’d I might afterward lose you.

Now we have met, we have look’d, we are safe,

Return in peace to the ocean my love,

I too am part of that ocean, my love, we are not so much separated,

Behold the great rondure, the cohesion of all, how perfect!

But as for me, for you, the irresistible sea is to separate us,

As for an hour carrying us diverse, yet cannot carry us diverse forever;

Be not impatient – a little space – know you I salute the air, the ocean and the land,

Every day at sundown for your dear sake, my love.

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Do not commiserate in my absence, as there is nothing to commiserate about, and I am most definitely not absent. Congratulate yourselves for making it this far and for being here with me now. May my memory be for a blessing in the moments we shared together and those we have yet to share. Oh, you beautiful and sentient balls of stardust! I will be there with you in those in-between moments where magic lives:

In the ebb and flow of Ocean waves.

At the moment of birth and death.

At twilight and on the horizon.

The calm before the storm.

In your anticipation.

Between two sighs.

First snowflake.

Raven’s song.

Tea time.


Breath in. Breathe out.



L’Shalom.

ב״ה