Death of a Hero

I must confess to my grief. One of my literary heroes is dead - Madeline L'Engle. She was a kindred spirit to many, of which I am one. Over the most recent years I have learned more about writing and being a child, without being childish, than I ever did as an undergrad. It is much like the day that Dr. Suess died. The boy in me weeps.

It is not so far an irony that she wrote brilliantly about death in The Summer of the Great-Grandmother and spoke often of her own. A life well lived, indeed. Such so that her death though sad is not one I consider too early. She said her peace – and her wars – in pen and podium. And she died near the same place as her mother did in that same book, only a few years shy of the same age, too – 88. Lots of living in those 88 years….All I know for now is that wherever God is, Heaven is, and if I don 't have glimpses of it here and now, I'm not going to know it anywhere else. - The Irrational Season
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