Kristina Lu Emerson

Mother, Wife, Teacher, Friend.

 

From Kevin:

My dear wife Lu died today in our home, surrounded by her family. Lu and I were fortunate to have many wonderful years together, but we hoped for more. After Lu was diagnosed with cancer last summer, we have, as a family, had time to contemplate life after she was gone.  That doesn’t make it any easier.  

I first met Lu when we were living in Eugene, OR - I was a finishing my PhD and Lu was workings a teacher for the visually impaired while finishing her Master’s degree.  We met on, of all places, Craigslist - at a time and place where that was neither creepy nor scary.  We both sought out new people, outside of our normal circle of friends.  

She wrote me an email.  I responded.  She wrote back. Let’s meet for coffee, she wrote - I’ll be the one in the propeller beanie hat. That was Lu.  Our second date was a bike ride from her community garden plot to mine across town - to pull and eat radishes.  We both hate radishes, but we had both independently planted them knowing that they were the first things to be ready in the spring, and we were excited about that. That was Lu.

She asked me to marry her on a canoe, while we were birding in the Fern Ridge Reservoir.  She said - ‘ hey, what’s that one?’.  I pulled up my binoculars and didn’t notice while she flipped around in the front of the canoe and got down on one knee.  Practical person that she was, she held out not a ring, but a raincoat.  Why? Because, of course, we were in Oregon, and we needed new raincoats.  That was Lu.

We were married two months later in our community garden plot, where her father walked her down the aisle while our friends and family played ‘Here comes the Bride’ on kazoos.  That was Lu.

She was a mother and teacher for our two children.  Our home is a loving classroom because of her and she has worked to provide for and nurture two of the most ferocious and independent learners in our children.  That was Lu.

She made my life better. She made my children’s lives better. She made all of us that know her better. That was Lu.

Lu chose this poem by Lisa Bonchek Adams to be read after her death. That was Lu.

 

When I die don’t think you’ve ‘lost’ me.

I’ll be right there with you, living on in the memories we have made.

When I die don’t say “I fought a battle” or “lost a battle” or “succumbed.”

Don’t make it sound like I didn’t try hard enough, or have the right attitude, or that I simply gave up.

 

When I die don’t say I “passed.”

That sounds like I walked by you in the corridor at school.

When I die tell the world what happened.

Plain and simple.

No euphemisms, no flowery language, no metaphors.

 

Instead, remember me and let my words live on.

Tell stories of something good I did.

Give my children a kind word.  Let them know what they meant to me.

That I would have stayed forever if I could.

Don’t try to comfort my children by telling them I’m an angel watching them from heaven or that I am in a better place:

There is no better place to me than being here with them.

They have learned about grief and they will learn more.

That is part of it all.

 

When I die someday just tell the truth:

I lived, I died.

The end.

 

The world is a bit less today than it was yesterday. Our lives are a bit less today than they were yesterday.  May Lu forever be our friend, our mother, our partner, through her inspiring our words and our actions for years to come.