It was a year ago that I slowly became aware of the suicide of my favourite blogger, Theresa Duncan. A stranger from America was kind enough to track me down and tell me. Lisa had noticed I was a regular commenter on T's blog. Thanks again Lisa.
I was devastated. And massively confused. How was it that someone I had never met could impact upon me so?
But it's nothing new. Take the mass outpouring of grief when Elvis died, when John Lennon was shot, when Princess Diana was killed. You don't have to be in physical presence to be moved by someone expressing who they really are. The difference with Theresa was that she never became that famous.
Did that relate to the fact that she was a drop-dead gorgeous blond who was not ever afraid of speaking her sometimes intimidating razor sharp wit and intelligence? (Diana has a somewhat different role in history).
Yeah I'd reckon that's a definite possibility.
She should have been famous and by all accounts she wanted to be. At the very least, she sought to be heard. I could rave on for hours about that one, but suffice it to say: this woman had the kind of impact on me that only a handful of people ever had.
I thought she was brilliant and that's because she was. Funny and entirely confident about her sexuality,all of it, she was a true inspiration and continues to be a muse for me. I have adopted her as a personal goddess in the year since her decision, asking for guidance as I go. And guess what.
She's always right and with a familiar sense of humour.
To all the people that knew her in real time, I hope this anniversary re-instates your own worthiness and reminds you to keep going.
Theresa pictured above with lover and artist Jeremy Blake who drowned himself a week after her death.