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Drusilla Campbell, 1940-2014

Drusilla’s Death

 

(Written by Art on 27 October 2014)

 

At 3 a.m. on 24 October 2014 Dru peacefully stopped breathing. According to her wishes, she expired at Crickety (her home), without pain, dying in my arms, with her son Rocky beside her. My last words to her were, “I love you, but you must feel free to let go of your riddled body. Wherever you go, I’ll find you.” Also as she wished, I bathed and dressed her body before consigning it for cremation. When her body was carried from Crickety she had one arm curled around her first doll and the other embraced a childhood toy koala. God be with you, my Timeless Bride and Queen of Joy.


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Gratitudes

(Written by Dru 1998, reviewed by Dru Sept 16, 2014, and discovered by Art, October 20th, 2014)

 

For you my dearest ones in the world, those with whom I hope to spend many more lifetimes, I want you to know what I am most grateful for at this moment, now, as I sit writing this with tears streaming down my face. That way, when I am dying you will know that I have loved my life and learned from it.

 

I am grateful…

 

— That I got to have a marriage to my soul mate.

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Kinship

(Dictated by Dru to Art Oct. 2, 2014)

 

The other day Art handed me a story about a homeless man called Wilbur who had died of cancer, sitting in a thrown-away chair.  He got no memorial, no headstone, just a pauper’s grave.  He hadn’t died like that because of being a drunk or a crook or mean-spirited; he’d been a sober, honest, friendly guy.  His closest friend said, “He died that way because he’d never married or had children– and kin was how a man like Wilbur made it through the final years of his life.”

 

The image of Wilbur dying alone with no one at his side is one that will stay with me for a long time.


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Reading, Writing, Observing

(Dictated by Dru to Art)

 

When I was five my mother, three-year-old brother, and I sailed from New York to Melbourne on the Merchant Marine Freighter, S.S. Rattler. This was the first U.S. ship to go through the Panama Canal and across the South Pacific after the Second World War. My Australian grandfather, who was at the time an executive working for British United Shoe Machinery, had secured passage for the three of us while my dad finished out his Navy stint in Australia. We’d be gone six months.

 

The Rattler sailed out of New York Harbor on a foggy night. The Statue of Liberty loomed off to one side but became partially obscured by another ship, plowing toward the sea. Passengers were lined up on its deck, waving. We watched as it maneuvered behind us, its outlines growing dimmer in the swirling fog.


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Time

(Dictated by Dru to Art)

 

I remember a song from the Eighth Grade Music Book: “Over the river and through the woods/ To grandmother’s house we go/ The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh….”

 

Yesterday– Sunday– wasn’t quite like that. No snow or horse or sleigh, and what passed for woods were acres of desiccated chaparral north of San Diego. We were in the midst of a hellish heat wave, over a week of century-plus record temperatures, and no relief in sight. In town the Chargers were beginning to lay waste to the Seahawks and the temp on the field was around one-hundred-eighteen degrees.


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Pirates’ Luck

(Dictated by Dru to Art)

 

Last Sunday Art could feel I was suffering from cabin fever and suggested we go for a drive. But what the San Diego Bureau of Tourism doesn’t want me to tell you is, “If you live in this town for forty years you will run out of interesting places to drive to.” If we go south we’ll be in Mexico where I don’t feel comfortable because I’m not fluent in Spanish. If we go east we see mountains, then miles of boring desert. If we go north we have to get beyond Los Angeles, which means traffic, traffic, traffic. And if we go west, it’s wet. In a way, living in San Diego is like living on an island: It takes some effort to get away from it.

 


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Cancer & Food

(Dictated by Dru to Art)

 

I like to think that Art and I have had an as-close-as-it-comes to a Perfect Marriage. But that’s not quite true. There are three things I can think of that made it less-than-perfect.

 
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Taking Addictive Drugs as a Recovering Alcoholic

(Dictated by Dru to Art)
 
I was a junior in college the first time I knowingly took a mind-altering drug. Living in a great little apartment on San Salvador Street in San Jose, California, I was carrying a heavy academic load: dual majors in English and Drama. One weekend I escaped to my parents’ home, dragging with me books on costume design, stage lighting, 18th century poetry, and other useful subjects. My intention was to study round-the-clock.
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Cancer and I Have a Short but Serious Conversation

(Dictated by Dru to Art on 10 Aug 2014)

 

Last night I enjoyed a rare, nearly full-night’s sleep. It was bliss. I threw away two of my four sitting-up-to-sleep pillows and slept on my side, which is an under-appreciated experience.


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Inside the Novel

(Dictated by Dru to Art)
 
For most of my life, I’ve known about this distant presence called Death. I’ve also believed we only really “live” in the present moment and I’ve based some of my novels on this view. On the other hand, I’d been operating as if I had an unlimited number of moments in my life. Now suddenly I’m facing both death and the fact I have only a limited number of moments. With these truths now literally “realized,” I’m shocked to see that before I’d only treated them as theories. Now I’m actually inside the novel. For me and the many loved ones who’ve been reaching out to me, these facts are here, now, and real. So, finding myself inside the novel, my guess-what for today is “How do I deal with them?”

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