Some six weeks later, while I was on a business trip to Dayton, I spoke to Kathy once more. I had been catnapping in my hotel room when I saw her, sitting on cushions in a lovely green Indian print tent or canopy structure. “Karen” she said, and I said “Kathy, how are you?” “I’m fine,” she said, in a cadence so much her own that it could not have been mistaken for any other. I still regret that at that point I pulled myself awake, or away, or something, as I said to myself, "Wait a minute, Kathy is gone." Did she have more to tell me? But really, seeing her once more, and hearing that she was okay, was all I needed.
Like me, and like all of my sisters and brothers, Kathy liked to make things. Each of us has some of her things. Here are things of hers that I have: