Word Nerd

Madeleine L'Engle, 88, has died.

Madeleine L’Engle, who in writing more than 60 books, including childhood fables, religious meditations and science fiction, weaved emotional tapestries transcending genre and generation, died Thursday in Connecticut. She was 88.

A beloved, eccentric, wise, crotchety, beautiful, generous, cantankerous, strong, creative, feisty, amazing member of my family died yesterday. She was 84 years old and for as long as I can remember she was complaining about one health problem or another, then jetting off to the Mayo Clinic for evaluation or Las Vegas for partying (and, of course, gambling). The funeral is in Indianapolis on Wednesday and I won't be able to be there and I'm just sad sad sad beyond words. I'm also full of regrets -- that I didn't send more pictures of Maggie to her; that I didn't ask her more about her life (only a few years ago I learned that she was half Crow Indian); that I haven't spoken to her since Maggie was born.

I can still hear her voice, her laugh.

Edit: My Mom just told me that her obituary article ran above John DeLorean's in today's paper.