Oct 26 2009
Oct 26 2009
Words for Laura from Madeline Mann
"Finally homeward! I'll miss the interior and it's wide spaces, colorful Fall and fast coming winter snows. Yet SE is something
special. On the water yet in the glaciers and mountains.
Spruce and alder and many berry bushes surround my home up the hill.
I got to take a prenatal yoga class the other morning. I'm looking forward to dealing with soon to be mamas...Sometimes, I
get most fired up for nursing school. Other times, I wonder when, in which life will I pursue MY art/poetry/movement/spiritual
path....
I can't wait...in two days I shall be home. After 4 months, a new record of moving/inquiring, making contacts, I will go back to
one spot and begin a settled existence. Still don't quite know how much will be woods and arts oriented, how much will be health
ed/maternal child slanted, what part will be putting summer and spring and next year's projects into order...I'm very excited for
whatever does shape up..."
--written by Laura, second day of Rosh Hashannah, September 30th, 1981 from Valdez, Alaska
My sister Laura embodied the word possibility. She was an amazing woman, and though there were times that it was clear that
we were sisters with sister issues, there was rarely a time when I was not in awe of her. I feel very lucky to have been Laura's
sister. She was such a wonderful combination of dreams and determination and pure quest for something real. I know that she
has touched many people in a profound way over the years. I have heard it. I have seen it and I have felt it.
"When I think of Laura, I see her sitting cross-legged on the floor of our cozy, off-campus, New Haven home, as she painstakingly
filled a page with columns of beautiful Japanese script. Her luxuriant hair flowing around her, a cup of tea at her side. Laura had
created a double major at Yale--Japanese language and literature and Religious Studies. Her area of study reflected her character--
they combined tremendous intellectual rigor and high aesthetic value. Only Laura would have had the audacity to tackle two such
demanding majors...and, the zaniness to integrate them in a compelling manner.
The summer after we graduated, we worked at Yellowstone National Park. I remember Laura encouraging me as I fearfully made my
way across a log over a river beneath me. Laura had already crossed without hesitation or trouble with her over-sized backpack. She
exhaulted in being in the wilderness...She exhaulted in the challenge. I found her fearlessness incomprehensible. It was only later
that I learned that in fact, she was afraid, but her determination trumped her fear.
At school, as in all parts of her life, Laura charted her own course. Her loveliness and goodness went hand in hand with a fierce de-
termination and independence to live life to its fullest and to make her mark....
There will never be another Laura Mann. I love her and will always miss her."
--excerpts from a letter from her dear friend Katherine McGraw
I have been particularly blessed to share Laura's journey over the past four years. On the day that Laura received her diagnosis, she
called me in tears. I was hiking on Mansfield at the time. I cried out "no" to the mountain. But, over time, in spite of every possible
treatment option from aryuvedic to acupuncture to radiation to intense chemo, my "no," Laura's "no," and all of the people who loved her
so much saying and feeling "no," the cancer was stranger than Laura and we had to watch her let go.
The stories of her life reflect a phenomenally vibrant and robust woman who never stopped dreaming, never stopped believing in possibilities.
It was almost as if she knew that she would have a brilliant but shortened life, as she fit so much in...
Laura was an amazing gymnast. A dancer.
She cross country skied in Vermont and tele skied in the back country of Alaska.
She kayaked many oceans.
She lived in the back country in Washington and Alaska.
She loved solitude and she loved intense companionship.
She milked goats.
Taught yoga. Studied yoga. Practiced yoga.
She learned Japanese. Wrote Japanese poetry. Lived in Japan.
Dreamed of studying many more languages, many more cultures.
She worked in Yellowstone. Drove cross country with my mom.
She rode her bike through China, Tibet, Thailand and Japan for an entire year.
She gave us Jo.
She gave birth to two beautiful children--Iris and Isaiah.
She wrote and thought on a level that I could only tentatively grasp.
Knew that she wanted to work with women, wanted to become a midwife.
Knew that she wanted to make a difference.
Believed she could change the world.
...and, through all that, I loved her, leaned on her for support, got furious at her, laughed with her and cried with her.
Laura refused to accept that the cancer was bigger than her. She was a phoenix that rose from the ashes many times in this journey.
Stubborn and tenacious until the end, Laura insisted that she was living, not dying.
I will miss her being in this life with me. I pray that her body is at ease and that her sharp mind is intact again. I give her my
love and gratitude for allowing me to be a part of her world.
special. On the water yet in the glaciers and mountains.
Spruce and alder and many berry bushes surround my home up the hill.
I got to take a prenatal yoga class the other morning. I'm looking forward to dealing with soon to be mamas...Sometimes, I
get most fired up for nursing school. Other times, I wonder when, in which life will I pursue MY art/poetry/movement/spiritual
path....
I can't wait...in two days I shall be home. After 4 months, a new record of moving/inquiring, making contacts, I will go back to
one spot and begin a settled existence. Still don't quite know how much will be woods and arts oriented, how much will be health
ed/maternal child slanted, what part will be putting summer and spring and next year's projects into order...I'm very excited for
whatever does shape up..."
--written by Laura, second day of Rosh Hashannah, September 30th, 1981 from Valdez, Alaska
My sister Laura embodied the word possibility. She was an amazing woman, and though there were times that it was clear that
we were sisters with sister issues, there was rarely a time when I was not in awe of her. I feel very lucky to have been Laura's
sister. She was such a wonderful combination of dreams and determination and pure quest for something real. I know that she
has touched many people in a profound way over the years. I have heard it. I have seen it and I have felt it.
"When I think of Laura, I see her sitting cross-legged on the floor of our cozy, off-campus, New Haven home, as she painstakingly
filled a page with columns of beautiful Japanese script. Her luxuriant hair flowing around her, a cup of tea at her side. Laura had
created a double major at Yale--Japanese language and literature and Religious Studies. Her area of study reflected her character--
they combined tremendous intellectual rigor and high aesthetic value. Only Laura would have had the audacity to tackle two such
demanding majors...and, the zaniness to integrate them in a compelling manner.
The summer after we graduated, we worked at Yellowstone National Park. I remember Laura encouraging me as I fearfully made my
way across a log over a river beneath me. Laura had already crossed without hesitation or trouble with her over-sized backpack. She
exhaulted in being in the wilderness...She exhaulted in the challenge. I found her fearlessness incomprehensible. It was only later
that I learned that in fact, she was afraid, but her determination trumped her fear.
At school, as in all parts of her life, Laura charted her own course. Her loveliness and goodness went hand in hand with a fierce de-
termination and independence to live life to its fullest and to make her mark....
There will never be another Laura Mann. I love her and will always miss her."
--excerpts from a letter from her dear friend Katherine McGraw
I have been particularly blessed to share Laura's journey over the past four years. On the day that Laura received her diagnosis, she
called me in tears. I was hiking on Mansfield at the time. I cried out "no" to the mountain. But, over time, in spite of every possible
treatment option from aryuvedic to acupuncture to radiation to intense chemo, my "no," Laura's "no," and all of the people who loved her
so much saying and feeling "no," the cancer was stranger than Laura and we had to watch her let go.
The stories of her life reflect a phenomenally vibrant and robust woman who never stopped dreaming, never stopped believing in possibilities.
It was almost as if she knew that she would have a brilliant but shortened life, as she fit so much in...
Laura was an amazing gymnast. A dancer.
She cross country skied in Vermont and tele skied in the back country of Alaska.
She kayaked many oceans.
She lived in the back country in Washington and Alaska.
She loved solitude and she loved intense companionship.
She milked goats.
Taught yoga. Studied yoga. Practiced yoga.
She learned Japanese. Wrote Japanese poetry. Lived in Japan.
Dreamed of studying many more languages, many more cultures.
She worked in Yellowstone. Drove cross country with my mom.
She rode her bike through China, Tibet, Thailand and Japan for an entire year.
She gave us Jo.
She gave birth to two beautiful children--Iris and Isaiah.
She wrote and thought on a level that I could only tentatively grasp.
Knew that she wanted to work with women, wanted to become a midwife.
Knew that she wanted to make a difference.
Believed she could change the world.
...and, through all that, I loved her, leaned on her for support, got furious at her, laughed with her and cried with her.
Laura refused to accept that the cancer was bigger than her. She was a phoenix that rose from the ashes many times in this journey.
Stubborn and tenacious until the end, Laura insisted that she was living, not dying.
I will miss her being in this life with me. I pray that her body is at ease and that her sharp mind is intact again. I give her my
love and gratitude for allowing me to be a part of her world.
