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Reading this news saddens me. Hope was a wonderful person and a first-rate photographer.

My deepest condolences to the family and to Doug, who I have gotten to know through the Ojai Valley Green Coalition. The world needs more people dedicated to their communities and the environment. I have found Hope's artwork quite compelling, and thought I would share this particularly striking photo from her website which resonated with me:
http://hopefrazier.com/li_americas/am_daydead.html

Losing Hope is yet another sad event on the heels of Jeffrey San Marchi death's for the Ojai Valley. In addition to all of her professional and personal accomplishments, Hope was one of the founding volunteers for the Ojai Film Festival. Her energy, spirit and dedication will be missed.

I was shocked to hear this news. My condolences to her family. She will be missed.

Final Day without Hope

She called. “I have cancer.”

My stomach turned. “I’ll be there every step of the way.”

“Thank you,” said softly.

Thus began my nine months gestation of growing up.

It’s funny how quickly nine months can go.

Each day was a phone call to set our intentions.

There will be no one days for that now.

Weekly we had a date for alternative treatment.

There’ll be no more of those either.

The wig came with tears, a confrontation with Self before the mirror. A look of dispair and then of rebellion. NO, silently screamed. I will wear it boldly. Then came the make-up, not usual for Hope. Her pieces were coming together . Weight was down, smaller clothes. Cottage cheese and flax seed. Reading, studying, trying. Was it predetermined?

I left for Christmas. We were upset. She gone a week, me the next. Exchange of gifts. A special necklace with stones of my favorite color for me. A DVD of Andy Goldworthy’s Rivers and Tides for her. “Doug and I will watch it tonight.” I knew she wouldn’t. No time. No energy. But always gracious.

Christmas. Our phone call. Babbling, unintelligible, unfocused. It’s the morphine I decided. She’ll come back when she’s healed. She didn’t.

My morning back I sat with Doug in their living room. “Too fast, too sudden,” he said. “I thought we had some time. Would you like to see her alone?” I nodded. Slowly the long walk to the bedroom in the outside cottage. A breath, deep, before walking through the door to inevitablilty. Shiny warm comforter covered all but arms and head. A victim of the Holocaust? “I thought her teeth were getting bigger,” Doug had said. “Then I realized her cheeks were gone.”

I sat. Took her hand. Spoke. Spoke of the mundane. She was elsewhere. “Are you in pain?”

Slowly, one nod. I left to ask Doug for help. He added pillows, prepared pills, and fed them one- by-one into her mouth. “Swallow” he encouraged, as I held the bottle. Then he lowered his head and kissed her lips, her cheeks, her neck. On each side of her we sobbed.

He held out a book. “We’ve been reading this together.” I rubbed lotion on her hands and arms and crawled under the covers to be close. Through tears, I read. Through tears, I stroked her arm. Through tears, I lied to myself. I left a 4:00. She passed at 8:30. He held her for a long, long time.

Note:
If anyone would like to share their thoughts, I will prepare a book. Bless you, ps

PSSuccess@roadrunner.com

(Posted by Suza with permission from Paula Spellman)

Hope, You are a sweet, beautiful spirit. My inner child would always get excited when we met knowing it always had your inner child available to play with.

I admire your conscious living; doing things that matter and throwing your whole heart and passion into it.

Thank you for the great honor at the arts council night. Your writing and thoughtfullness were huge gifts to me.

Your spirit will always be a shining light in Ojai.

John Azevedo

Doug-
Somehow I felt that something seismic had occurred in your life, and found this sad news of Hope's passing. My thoughts are with you, my old friend. I wish you strength and peace.
Love, Colleen