On of my readers/correspondents confirmed for me this this morning that Rachael Ross has died. What surprised me was that she was so young: according to a post at a google chatroom, July 27 would have been her 30th birthday. I am nearly twice that old, and I have not written as much as she did in her brief life. One of her stories - "Mommy Misplaced" - is on my favorites list. I praised the piece for the way it very realistically presents the characters' reactions to a very unreal situation, and for the way she sustains the sex scenes more than I have ever attempted. Rachel had a sympathetic imagination that I envy.
I have in the past grieved copiously for someone I never met, and yet have felt next to nothing at the death someone I knew my entire life. That is the way emotions work. We cannot predict of control them - a lesson that been driven home to me again today.
Life could not be crueller, and yet we continue to say we love it.