Global Village

Calamity is calamity. Yesterday morning, my brilliant, beautiful, dearly beloved agent, Pat Kavanagh, died quite suddenly of a brain tumor which was only diagnosed five weeks ago. A personal loss on a scale I cannot begin to describe and have no intention of trying. But, it is so often the human lot to be wandering about the world in a state of stunned grief, yet having to try and describe why you feel so desperate — you need to explain something of context before people can arrange their faces. The death of Scary Pat, as I have often tended to refer to her domestically (’who was on the phone? ‘– ‘Scary Pat’ — as distinct from other Pats also significant) — the death of Scary Pat has been greeted with a vast outpouring of grief and regret in well turned phrases from the many, many, writers to whom she was important going on central. I have found this consoling. Just as, you might say, in a small village where there is a fatal accident involving the school bus, every one you meet will know who is mourning, and what, and why, there is a consoling feeling that yes, the universe has rocked on its hinges. An entire meta-world acknowledges, in shock and grief, the passing of someone absolutely wonderful.

One Response to “Global Village”

  1. Andrew Says:

    Yes indeed. I didn’t know who to talk to, or what to say to them. Terrible news, only vaguely blunted by the pleasure in at least having met her. Thanks to you for that, and the confidence she gave me in our brief encounters will buoy me many a metaphorical nautical mile where otherwise I might have sunk.

    Not that she’d have tolerated a phrase like that. Terrible, terrible loss.

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