Lo and her husband Dan were Eratosphere regulars in the late 2000s to mid-2010s. I am sorry to report that she passed away on Saturday, June 17, 2023.
Lo changed her profile picture here to a photo of a goliath grouper during the course of a 40-page thread about its name change from jewfish. I dare not link to that monstrous thread lest it rise again from the deep, but I've just reviewed it and confirmed my recollection that Lo made one concise, witty, reasonable point after another in it. (I may be just a
teensy bit biased because I shared her viewpoint, though.)
I've received Dan's permission to repost her obituary and a few of her poems, in both form and free verse.
Julie Steiner
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This is Dan, Laura's husband, posting on her behalf. She dictated this to me in 2022, and I've filled in the blanks.
Quote:
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Laura Heidy-Halberstein, age 71, of Alexandria, Va, formerly of Munster, In, and Chicago, Il, passed away on Saturday, June 17, 2023, of a long illness. She is survived by husband Dan Halberstein of Alexandria, Va; sons Jason (Carla) Heidy of Chicago, Il, Jeremy (Lydia) Kudlo of Albany, Or, and Joseph (Magen) Kudlo of Griffith, In; grandchildren Dominic and Madeline Heidy (Chicago), Colton and Cadence Kudlo (Albany), and Connor and Rowan Kudlo (Griffith), and sister Margery Hansen (Chet) of Dermodtt, In. She leaves behind ambulance calls to which you too might have responded, ER stories that you might retell, a cottage in South Nag's Head that you might visit, a few poems that you might read, and moments that you might remember. She hopes you do. Laura will be cremated immediately without fanfare.
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All I could add would be words, of which I always have far too many. She's gone and the world is poorer. Thank you all, for all that you were to her.
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Judicium (2005)
by Laura Heidy
What numbered men will sway the gods
when last I cease to be—
The ones that taught me how to live
or those that learned from me?
Matthew 10:29-31 (2005)
by Laura Heidy
If God still sees when sparrows fall
then why are cats so sharp of claw?
I would have thought that God turned pale
each time He spied a twitching tail
or heard a kitten caterwaul…
It somehow casts a somber pall
to think the God who made us all
has let this sort of thing prevail.
If God still sees
beneath each tree, behind each wall,
then why do stray cats stalk and maul
the frightened finch and quaking quail?
It makes me wonder without fail
each time the kittens crouch and crawl
if God still sees.
The Spider's Named Penelope
by Laura Heidy
Her web is patience—iridescence spun
between two twigs. She weaves the morning sun
into the dew dripped from the leaf
then shrouds herself so carefully
that no one knows she waits, until unwarily,
they’re captives in the glitter of her grief.
Bless The Babies
By Laura Heidy
The night-gods are vengeful –
filled with the righteousness of power,
swollen fat with anger,
screaming, screaming
at the babies I've baptized in
their names.
I am afraid for all those I have sent to
the Kingdom of Forever Eternity.
I am afraid the gods hate me for
muttering all those grammar school incantations
at the deathbeds created by speeding cars –
unstoppable locomotives –
guns – knives – swords – fists – bottles – fires –
bombs – drugs – all the spewing brimstone
of a civilized world.
At night, I think god laughs at me as I laugh
at myself (in between sobs) for daring to think
it matters.
The morning-gods are back-lit
by fractured sunlight.
They smile at the babies I've pulled
from thighs too rushed to wait for
anyone else to get there.
They laugh with me, gleefully, each time
I pull someone from the jaws of death
with the sharper jaws of life.
They dance with me on rooftops –
holding tight to
watersoaked kittens who claw the badge
and scratch the shield.
I see the self-righteous gods in every old woman who's ever
patted my head – blessed me a hundred times
in broken english – told me I'm a good girl –
go home – gain weight – find a husband.
I cannot believe in what I disbelieve.
I cannot take comfort in pain
nor can I find the rational in the irrational.
I cannot compromise fear with fate.
I cannot accept the unacceptable.
I have mocked death's grin
yet watched too many children die.
I've closed their eyes.
I shut eyes for a living.
I shut my own sometimes but I always
see beneath, behind, beyond.
I bless all the babies, the ones who breathe,
the ones who won't draw breath.
I send them somewhere
to someone
simply because to send them
to nothing
is more than I can bear.
[Dan wrote, "This one appeared in
SOL Magazine, and really encapsulates how she felt about memorial-making. (This is not to say she would not approve of sharing her work.)"]
Perennial Me
by Laura Heidy
Plant
no rose
bush graveside.
Leave no lilies
wrapped in baby's breath.
Save your sad hyacinths.
The final garden grows wild.
Find me where roadside daisies dance
in tandem with the West wind blowing.
Let me be elemental memory.