Here's Holly. She is part of the small cadre of female automotive journalists who have well worn sensible shoes that get you to your departure gate at any number of airports. But Holly always packed a pair of sexy sandals for dinners with our hosts. I often didn't bother. That would result in a Holly fashion consultation in the elevator heading to dinner. I'm sure some of that sunk in, but I will never have her fashion sense.
It did not matter what power plant we were mulling over in our travels through the auto world; Holly always referred to Mike and Dylan and Jenna. It was a welcome diversion away from the tiresome chronicling of how many hours-long delays we had all experienced or how many air miles we had accrued. She talked about what we all recognize as what is important--health and family. Holly's family was her absolute baseline for everything in her life.
For the time I have known Holly, which is about 22 years, she has breezed around the planet collecting and writing travel and automotive stories. And for about the same amount of time, this woman has battled cancer with a fierceness that is rare. We were in a swimming pool at some hotel earlier this year, chatting about this and that (OK, exercise.) and I looked her in the eyes and said, "If your ears were burning last week, it is because Sue and I were talking about you. And what we said was that we did not know another single person who would have handled their illness with such an optimistic, courageous attitude and for nearly a quarter of a century. Her ability to keep herself and her loved ones above it all will remain an inspiration to me for the rest of my life. Sometimes we think things and we don't say them. I am glad I told Holly what I had observed about her.
We saw a couple of make-me-laugh movies together this summer. Ab Fab--terrible. Florence Foster Jenkins--great. We ate popcorn, drank water and walked to 72nd together. I am glad to have had Holly in my life. She succumbed October 6th.
Here's a poem I wrote a while back after my loss:
When Continue Just Won’t
by Kate McLeod
Consider the lost.
Consider the lost.