THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Thursday, October 6, 1994 TAG: 9410060474
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY ANN G. SJOERDSMA, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Medium: 60 lines
Death touches all of us every day, some of us more than others. We tenderhearted always hear the bell tolling.
One hundred thirty-two people perish in a nosedive plane crash, the horrible realization of the victims' doom lasting 20 long seconds.
More than 900 people die in a freakish ferry accident, many trapped in comfortable cabins that within seconds of a blissful sleep become tombs.
They fall in the streets of Haiti, Rwanda, Bosnia, New York, Norfolk, bloodied and trampled, instantly nondescript, ``bodies,'' ``corpses.'' Their families wail, and we glance, with the shame of an outsider, at their pain.
We shed tears, too, but we mourn quickly, always aware that the next unthinkable tragedy is only seconds away, and because we still hope in the face of hopelessness, we need detachment to survive.
And then Gin dies, and we can't easily murmur our sympathies and look to our tomorrows because we know Gin is the reason we have life. Gin put a light in the mischievous, warm eyes of a dear friend of ours.
Every time columnist Guy Friddell worked Gin into a sentence (and he often did) - written or spoken - it was a sentence steeped in love and laughter, joy, friendship and eternity. It was a walk along the beach hand-in-hand. A Labrador retriever's expectant face and wagging tail. What Gin said, what she thought, whatever she did, Guy experienced fully and enjoyed. Even when he didn't agree. Perhaps even more when he didn't agree.
To hear Guy Friddell speak of his wife was to hear the angels sing. Not that Guy is a choirboy or that their marriage was divinely created. In fact, a number of those Gin sentences contained a gentle comeuppance for a man's foolish vanities. But even those were wise and tender, administered by a familiar hand.
I learned to value the times when Guy would invoke Gin's name in a conversation with me, because I knew then that he had let me into his heart. Gin's word was the good word. And when hundreds die and suffer every day, and we must bear witness to that truth, that is really all we have, our hearts and our good word.
People often speak of ``senseless'' deaths, deaths that don't seem like they should have happened. Perhaps a child is killed in a car accident, or a tennis star unknowingly inhales carbon monoxide and stops breathing. But really, death is quite sensible, a simple cause-and-effect relationship. A woman suffers a stroke that disables her brain and she can't survive. Those who love her grieve her loss and will always miss her presence, but they know why they hurt and they have lifetimes of memories for consolation. It's not enough, but it has to be.
The senselessness comes with life and deciding what to do with the life that we have, today and for all the years that we assume will be ours. It makes perfect sense to me to live them as Gin must have, in beauty and harmony, at peace with herself and happy with her family. I never met Gin, but I know it took a wondrously beautiful woman to put a light in Guy Friddell's eyes and to make them shine so brightly.
In memoriam, Gin. You will always be just a sentence away. by CNB