The picture to the left is one that his daughter just posted on her Facebook page. Carruthers noted that her love of fieldwork was inherited from her dad. I believe that to be true.
Doug told me he was a nomad and expected to journey throughout his life. Unfortunately, that wasn’t true in the last years or maybe it was. His death was a long journey, so much so that when he finally left us it was accompanied by not just sorrow, but also some relief. His end days were everything he didn’t want. It had been awful to watch the vibrant, healthy man I knew and loved become an invalid whose days centered on medical appointments and care instead of fieldwork and intellectual discussion.
Even so, I miss him. I miss his sweet spirit and optimism.
It’s been a rough year. Intellectually, I’ve known about the grief process since Psychology 101 way back in 1977, but until you go through it. . . I had thought that by now, I would be easy with the idea that Doug is dead. I’m not.
I loved him. I still love him. I think that’s the hardest part of the grief process — love continues even when the person is gone. I can’t tell him that I love him. I can tell the people he loved, the same people I’ve gotten closer to since his death, that I love them. So, I will. KT, Martha and Roy? I love you.