Photo: Rolande Duprey
“I’ll be dead in a month,” she said, just as I was ready to leave. A door knob disclosure. I sat back down. Susan said her mother had predicted and orchestrated her passing. I asked what she was feeling now and Susie said, “Just a sense. And pain.” We spoke a bit longer before I had to leave, as I was already late for my grandson’s birthday cake celebration. It was the last time I saw her, about a month ago.
Susan was my muse. She started the transfer of my thoughts to paper in a more consistent way. She assigned me tasks I thought were beyond me but proved me wrong. Our interactions ebbed and flowed over the years. She came on some of my hikes while recovering from her bouts of cancer. I worked for her husband for a few seasons.
Then, after The Election, our contact reestablished through her Poet’s Corner at the library devoted to Resistance. Susan wanted to publish more of her poetry and I offered my skills and experience using self-publishing. Thus began seven months of regular meetings to review and edit her poems. Throughout all her treatments and challenges, Susan continued to revise her work. Even that final visit included the transfer of final edits of her short poems and ditties book.
Susan glowed much of the time, even while in pain. Her exterior lightness contrasted with her inner angst. Peace now, Susan. It’s all Light now. xoxo
A year or so ago, a sign went up on Route 9 as it passed north through my town, Middletown, CT. A section of the road was dedicated to the memory of 
Maurice Rose was born in Middletown in 1899; a plaque marks the location on Main Street. When he was four, his family moved to Denver. Rose was determined to join the military and served in both World War I and II.
The most remarkable occurrence at a recent presentation about Rose by Post 51’s Karen Uberti was the arrival of a WWII colleague. Almost ninety-eight year old 
As those who served during that time get fewer and fewer, it becomes even more important and poignant to hear their stories and honor their memories.
Loud live music ricocheting down the stairs and out into the street, the hubbub of many conversation, food and drink – in the LIBRARY (no ‘shhh’ here!!) It was the opening of Pierre Sylvain’s art show Fantastical Journey: voodoo, slavery jazz! at Middletown’s Russell Library. Pierre (who lives in Middletown with his wife, son, and daughter) is a Haitian native who paints about his home country, and the culture and music of African Americans in the United States. His styles and colors vary, but his passion and energy come through all his work. The paintings are on display in the main lobby and upstairs near the information desk through March 31 during regular 
Sometimes we don’t know the impact we have on others. Teachers may touch a student and never learn about it. A kind word or considerate action may brighten someone’s day in a significant way.
For a while, I sat with a daughter of each of the twins. They were commenting on this person and that who walked in. So many people. Some they didn’t even know. And I realized that The Cypress was one of those places that served not only good meals but good will, heartfelt connections, and strong caring. It was a place where people could feel at home and musicians felt they were playing in someone’s living room. People who had no one could go and feel comfortable. The Cypress, its owners, and staff touch the hearts of many. And we had all come to say goodbye.
Beth Lapin 