Remembering Sara
It has been a painful process to accept the fact that Sara is gone. She was such a vital presence; in the words of Victor Hugo "une force qui va." I keep wanting to call her, to talk with her, to hear her voice. From the time we were introduced forty years ago in Paris by a mutual friend, we bonded (hey, we smoked the same brand of cigarettes), and I found her a formidable, appealing, welcoming, and unshakably loyal friend. Visits to Norfolk: meeting Alec, being chased by the sheep guard dogs, being stunned upon walking into the living room and seeing the Breughels hanging on the wall, listening to Sara playing the piano, gathering for drinks in the sun room, surveying Sara's beautiful garden. All accompanied by easy hospitality and interesting and sometimes devastatingly witty conversation. Then after the misery of Alec's death, visits with her as she moved to DC, then Stonington, then NYC. Her amazing generosity in letting my husband and me stay in her CPW apartment. Her dashing style, impressive intellect, and her formidable wit concealing a profound vulnerability. So many precious memories. Last night I had a dream. Sara and I were traveling somewhere together. A kind of cheerful road-trip dream. When I woke up, I felt finally at peace, having realized that Sara may be gone from this world but that she lives on forever in our love.