Claudia's Minions

I'm writing this because today would have been Hanarobi's birthday. I'm sure you all knew Hanarobi, who passed away July 18, 2025. I think of her almost every day, in part because her face regularly appears on our digital frame but also because we Zoomed once a month for several years.

Just in case you didn't know Hanarobi, let me tell you a little about her. She was an award-winning philosophy professor. She loved her subject and she loved her students. I taught briefly at a few different universities, and I quickly learned that teaching wasn't my strength. I was much better at the administrative part so when she became the department chair I was able to offer suggestions. But her brilliance lay in her teaching and I loved listening to her talk about her subject, her strategies, and her students.

Not that we spent hours discussing Hegel (though he did come up at least once). We discussed her painting classes (as a student; she didn't teach that subject), reupholstering old chairs, cats, gardens, books, TV shows, movies, the minutiae of our lives.

I miss her, and I miss those conversations. It's hard (super hard) to find friends as adults; that's a cliche because it's true. I live far, far away from most of my friends so we communicate by email, letters and cards, and of course Zoom/FaceBook/Signal/WhatsApp.

And not only do I live far away, but Hanarobi is not my only friend who has died. I'm 73, so perhaps not surprising, but I'm losing more and more friends, either to death or to dementia. My favorite teacher in the world is now lost in dementia and can no longer live in her own home. I spent so many hours with her in her beautiful home, often cooking for her, talking talking talking, and that's all gone. I have tears in my eyes thinking of her brilliance (she has a PhD in medieval English literature) now rarely observable. I can't even talk to her by phone anymore; she no longer remembers me and in-person visits agitate her too much.

I spend a lot of my time at this age missing people. Far away, dead, demented -- no longer available to be the friend they once were.

Anyway, blah blah blah. Hanarobi died last year and I really miss her. I work hard to keep in touch with my friends no matter how far away they are, but I can't help but remember my mother's situation: she was the last woman standing, dying at 94 after all of her generation and my dad's generation were gone. All her friends were gone. Even though we spent so much time with her, she missed her friends and she hated watching them die off.

Is there a moral to this story? Figure out who is your family, whether by blood or by friendship, and try to stay in touch? Who doesn't already know that?

I miss everybody. Happy birthday, dearest Hanarobi.


PS: Okay, this is weird. I had just finished drafting this paean to friendship and keeping in touch when Kottke.org linked to this essay, which rang so true. I'm going to link to it by using a sentence from it that spoke to me: Sociologists have long argued that human relationships are sustained less by intensity and more by regularity. Your assignment: call or text a friend right now!