35. For Karen, my friend

Death, of course, is inevitable for all of us. For some of us, it comes at the end of a long life, winding down like an eight-day clock until we arrive at the door. For others, it comes suddenly, shockingly, opening and closing the door with an abrupt slam. And thus it came for my friend Karen Wilson.

I first met Karen when we were both graduate students at the University of Illinois. At first glance, Karen seemed an unlikely academic; she was broad and rough, with big hands and a loud, gravelly voice. She was from Danville, a neighboring town that couldn’t be further in culture from the hallowed university halls. She didn’t have an educated background, but what she did have—and had in spades—was personality. Will. Courage. Humor. Grit. And smarts. Her friendly, folksy demeanor belied a keen intellect and, later, an astute business acumen. Not concerned in the least about what others thought of her, she asked the questions everyone else was afraid to ask. She was a single mom, struggling her way through grad school on a teaching assistant’s salary, but she still found time to hang out with her colleagues and students outside of class. She was a superb story-teller, spinning tales that you weren’t sure could be true; but Karen was nothing if not brutally honest with a total lack of pretention, so you had to know that these stories were fact, and part of the vibrantly colorful tapestry of her life.

After graduate school, Karen and one of our teaching colleagues started an English school. She wasn’t afraid to work long hours and make many sacrifices to make it successful. When the school was ultimately sold, Karen didn’t waste time, moving on to new and bigger adventures. She moved to Florida, then to Vancouver, then ultimately to Yalikavak in the Bodrum peninsula of Turkey. Each time, she threw herself heart and soul into whatever training or business venture she was involved in. She loved travel. She loved people. She lived big. Her daughter followed in her footsteps by moving to the UK to pursue her own graduate work, and ultimately settled there to marry and start a family. Karen was so proud.

I had lost touch with Karen over the years, but the magic of Facebook (and the only redeeming quality of it, I’ve found) brought us back together in recent years. We would have long talks on the phone when she came back to the US to visit her mom in Danville. In 2016 Karen called and asked if I wanted anything from Turkey. She was planning on bringing back some things from the US, so would have mostly empty suitcases on her flight from Turkey. I said no, I didn’t need anything, but of course she insisted. I said, “surprise me.”

And surprise me she did! She came to my house for a lovely afternoon, bringing a beautiful silver filigree Turkish coffee set, a copper coffee pot, Turkish coffee, gorgeous ceramic trivets, soap, and loads of bulk spices (I still haven’t figured out how to use nigella, Karen, but I will!). She taught me how to make real Turkish coffee, and we sat for hours while she caught me up on her life in Yalikavak—house hunting, social life in the expat community, ESL work, learning the language and culture, all of which she had been pursuing with her usual gusto. She also told me some stories from her life in between grad school and Facebook, her daughter growing up, her life partner dying of a heart attack and how much she missed him, her migration to Canada and how she ended up in Turkey. At the time, she was long overdue for a hip surgery and in incredible pain, but she never stopped smiling and laughing. I treasure that afternoon. I will think of her every time I use the beautiful things she brought me.

That day I promised her I would come to visit her in Turkey. A couple of years later, she moved to Plovdiv, Bulgaria. I sent her a message that I was “mad” at her for leaving Turkey, but she replied that if I wanted to visit Yalikavak at any time, she would meet me there in a heartbeat to show me around. She had made a home in Turkey, and planned to visit her friends there at every opportunity. But in the meantime, she had fallen in love with Bulgaria. And it wasn’t quite as far away from her brand new grandbaby.

This morning I received news that Karen died in a terrible car accident yesterday while visiting her friends in Turkey. But I am comforted by knowing that she lived more in her shortened lifespan than most of us do by reaching our nineties. She is no longer with us, but her sparkle, her zest for life, remain. Her legacy is to inspire us all to live with our hearts forward, with courage, with integrity, with grit. Rest In Peace, my friend.