Julia and I sat last night on our old lumpy sofa (Laura had always wanted to dump it), discussing memories, sharing tears, sharing joy. One thing Julia mentioned was how Laura was a TEACHER. She brought us to both physical and mental places we might never have reached on our own. From my previous entry, which spoke of really learning one's beauty, to learning to speak out when necessary, to freeing our minds from gullibility, she was always testing our minds to their limit.

Even so, she was a teacher when it came to her death, as well. Laura had prepared Julia and I as thoroughly as any human could. You see, way back fifteen years ago, when Laura and I first got together, Laura brought up the subject of her possible imminent death. She'd already had a heart attack or two, and the quadruple bypass surgery. She felt it her duty to prepare me for the realities of her health condition.

However, back then, just the very thought of it made me bawl like a baby. At various intervals, she'd bring it up again, and I'd cry. She knew what she was doing. At first, I thought she was cruel, to make me cry like that. But now, it is as though she cried many of the tears with me. And so now, there is not the nearly unbearable crushing heartache that there could have been.

This capacity of Laura as teacher has been noticed by our friends as well. From more impersonal ventures, such as the very educational items she placed within her web pages, to one on one contacts, she was always seeking to impart what she'd learned in her sixty three years of life.

One of our friends here in Yuma was inspired to write a delightful poem addressing this unique facet of Laura's: