Mighty and true: Bridget Eding

A message flicked across my screen tonight. My exquisite friend Bridget fell down the stairs this morning in California and died. 

I met Bridget in Palm Springs at Camp Mighty. I don't know how I knew she was my kind of people or vice versa but we became steadfast friends.

When my mother was dying, Bridget wrote me exquisite water colour letters and sent me care packages of literature and poetry she loved, pulling out poems with special meaning.

In late December 2019, I met up with Bridget for an evening Beethoven's 'Ode to Joy,' a long wander around London. We allowed time to slow as we absorbed the Longplayer at Trinity Buoy Wharf, then rode around London to absorb Christmas lights. It was easy to be in Bridget's company, even and especially in the silences. And she sang as we walked at times, her voice clear and pure. 

It hasn't really sunk in yet, has it? That she's dead. I don't know that I want it to be a fact of my reality, not yet. Maybe not ever. Bridget is not bound to this earthly world or any other. She transcends.