3 S.R. Johannes: June 2011

Wednesday, June 01, 2011

RIP Sweet Bridget Zinn

Last week, a fellow blogger, friend, librarian, writer - and to be honest the sweetest and happiest person around - died way too young at age 33.

Bridget found out 2 years ago (March 2009) that she had Stage 4 cancer. Here is more information. This came to a shock to all because Bridget had no risk factors and lived a healthy life. Even in her fight, she remained upbeat and happy. Her courage was amazing and inspiring. She blogged throughout her battle and showed nothing but total grace.

This is devastating to our writing community. Her agent, Michael Stern did a wonderful tribute to her that is so worth seeing.It totally captures her true spirit. Bridget died way too young. Luckily for us, her book, Poison, was acquired by Hyperion and is supposed to be published in 2012. Look for it! I've heard it is funny and amazing.

Here is a note from her hubby, Barrett. They were together since high school and he is doing some special events to celebrate Bridget's life. Because that is exactly what she would want.
Bridget was a writer and a special friend to all librarians. You are welcome to attend the events or if you would like to do anything in her name, he's asking for donations to CBCC. You can also follow the FB page.

RIP Bridget - may you have an eternity of cupcakes, flowers and shoes. You will be missed.

I saw this poem on a blog and it summed up exactly how many are feeling right now.

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message She Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotten gloves.

She was our North, our South, our East and West,
Our working week and our Sunday rest,
Our noon, our midnight, our talk, our song;
We thought that love would last forever: We were wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.