Pandemic.
What a horrible word has it become. How I loathe it to its very core.
One of my good friends passed away recently from Covid. She was a brilliant linguist who translated the book of Mark into a Mixtec variant. She was young, strong, warm, hospitable. But most of all, she was my dearest friend who received me into her home during my study exchange in Oaxaca. It was her friendship and dedication to her community and work who helped me heal after a terrible onslaught of spiritual abuse from my previous church. It was because of her, that I held on to the belief that there are good Christians out there.
We would write often after I left Oaxaca and I once went back to visit her. She was truly formidable....teaching linguistics in colleges, writing books about linguistics, directing workshops for translators, and doing amazing work amongst the indigenous community. She combined her passion for languages with a powerful vision. I loved her and admired her for who she was and how she made others feel around her.
Sometime in July this year she wrote me a note about reminiscing our times in Oaxaca. Sometime in August she fell ill with Covid. I prayed and prayed for her life. Sometime in September she passed away. Life is that short and effervescent.
And these past few days, my grief has come washing me with its ebb and flow. Sometimes, I find myself crying in the car asking God...why? Why did you take her so soon? And sometimes I am comforted that I will see her again. But most of all, I just think of the wonderful days I got to spend with her in Oaxaca, going from village to village to visit the indigenous communities...talking to new people, eating mole and smashing piñatas in birthday parties.
What an honor to have met you, Karina.
