For the first anniversary of Wídfara's death, I have written a short story as a memorial: Departing
I knew Wídfara only online, as did all or nearly all of us at the TOR.n message boards. But friendship is not limited to seeing someone in person, and I was proud to be able to call her my friend. Her decision to take her own life was a tragedy. This site salvages the messages that were posted at TOR.n about her passing, and now also some of Wíd's hilarious footers. If I've missed out something, or misrepresented something, or a link is broken, please let me know and I will fix it as soon as I can. Thanks to everyone who has helped me collect all of the posts and images that appear here!
Footers: 1
Tribute messages at TOR.n: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15
Tribute poems: 1 2
From the Prancing Pony: 1
Additional memorial messages were archived by Watson, and can be read here; please note that you must have the free Acrobat® Reader® to access the file.
Namarië, Wídfara.
Celandine Brandybuck
Only the week before her death, I had given Wíd my real name and a link to my professional web site. This is part of what she said to me in return:
"You know, about that jam-packed Internet repository of info... I'd reciprocate if I had anything approaching that. Not being in academia, and not having the interest up until now to create my own Web page, I have no "Web me" to offer you. *shrugs* In fact, since I don't own or rent property, don't have a phone or utilities in my name, and haven't done anything newsworthy, I have only the tiniest little wee Web presence. (I think my cousin posted some genealogical stuff. There's one article from a local newspaper about three of us at my job doing some local cleanup. A Rhodes College volleyball mention. Not exactly earth-shattering Web hits.) I'm sorry."
Now she has a Web presence - and I wish she did not.
"Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
…Come, my friends,
’Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die."
--Alfred, Lord Tennyson, "Ulysses"