A. G. Moore September 24, 2011
Words cannot express. How many times have I heard that phrase? Regina proved them a lie. She demonstrated that the right person crafts language so that it is a true reflection of emotion and thought. In Regina’s hands, language was not a distinct entity but an extension of her person.
And what a person. Her aspect and her writing were clean of pretension. Because she herself had none. No hint of cruelty or avarice, envy or aspersion colored her expression — neither written nor physical.
And yet, Buddha-like she was not. She did not resign herself to the mortal coil. She resisted the predations that time imposed upon her. I remember the day she apologized for relenting to the necessity of a wheelchair.
Regina was frail in almost every way we humans know. But imprisoned in her failing body was a subtle intellect, an intellect that did not blanch before a challenge. She would protest in wavering voice but steely indignation at instances of cruelty.
Regina, whose writing revealed she had endured more than the usual measure of pain, had ripened to an appreciation of pain in others. And this she could not tolerate.
I knew Regina was not well and that she existed on the very perimeter of our known universe. And yet I do not acquiesce to her demise. Like Regina, I resist the mortal coil.
I miss you Regina. I missed you the moment I learned of your passing. And I strongly resent the relentless reality that has taken you from all of us.
Writings by Regina Sonenklare