In Memory

Karen Hovard (Sparre-Ulrich)

Karen Hovard (Sparre-Ulrich)



 
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06/09/16 09:16 AM #1    

Gregory Prout

karen, was a gentle spirit with a quiet laugh she shared frequently. close friends, sharing family and dreams and always a good time when she was around. stayed in touch writing long hand written letters (before email) while she traveled the world and lived afar. a beautiful person, gracious and graceful, a loving mother, an unforgettable friend. the sun hid behind the clouds the day she died, the world's spin slowed, flowers bowed their heads, life hushed. she is missed and loved still. greg


02/06/23 12:57 PM #2    

Gregory Prout

 

A Tribute to Karen

By the time I reached the 12th grade Karen and I were good friends. Actually Laurie Lebaron, Karen, and I were good friends. No, in fact, Karen and Laurie were good friends, like sisters, to a group of us guys: Obie (John Obazawa), Jim Andrews (deceased), the Garcia cousins (Steve and John), but mainly to Obie and me. (For a time she and Obazawa shared a romance). Obviously, Karen and Lauren had a lot of friends, but they were our favorites. 'Chicks' we could relate to, who knew how to handle the male psyche, who could see through our immature shenanigans yet too wise to be a victim of those immaturities. Very cool. When we graduated, they -Karen and Laurie- moved to Santa Barbara. We would crash at their white cottage when in town and when wasted which was whenever we were in town. Before that Karen lived on Paloma St., and her dad was a Pasadena cop who had a remarkable collection of American Indian relics, (recently on display in the Sierra Madre Library, where they have been loaned many times over the years). Fate sent me to college, where I grew up (well, sort of), and then moved back east to attend seminary. Karen and Laurie, two wanderlusts if there ever was, valiant women of the 60's zeitgeist, became teachers abroad. They taught in Iran, and all over the place. Laurie would call me from the North Sea, where for a while she worked on an oil rig - uh-huh, an oil rig - while I lived in the backwoods of North Carolina. They settled down, together and lived in Norway for a while and then I believe Karen moved to Sweden or some such place. They both married Europeans and started families. I would write Karen never-ending letters (before computers and after pony express), and she would always write back. Lebaron never wrote, and still doesn't, so she was spared my leviathan oracles, but Hovard made the mistake of responding so I persisted to bury her with my lengthy scripts every so often. She had two cute cherubs for sons and I after a divorce, re-married, and had two kids of my own, a boy and a girl, the approximate ages of her boys. When Karen would come home to see her folks we would often get together. We would picnic at Wilderness Park or take the kids, as one big tribe, to the Huntington Library in an effort to run the children to exhaustion so they would nap and we could talk. When I was building my house in Sierra Madre, Karen unexpectedly dropped by one day to check on me. That was probably 1991 or 92, the last time I saw her. I loved her dearly. She had the sexiest bedroom eyes, a smile that would tempt Valentino, and a continent-size heart which made me feel like she really liked me. Imagine that. But it is one of those things in life that matter: to be genuinely liked by another person, especially one you adore and whose friendship was a bequest from God. She manifested a soft and warm aura: billowy and fluffy, like being wrapped in a goose down comforter on an icy night. She was fun and fun-loving, yet stable and steady and sound, someone you could bet on. Karen was a terrific mom. When we picnicked together she would be talking to Mary and me while her sons climbed all over her like a jungle gym yet she continued the conversation uninterrupted as if everyone should have kids climbing on them while talking. It was natural. She was natural. I watched silently thinking how wonderful life is, it had come to this: school chums now parents and of course friends forever. Life is abundant at times and time with Karen was like that.

 

Then she got sick. Lebaron contacted me telling me Karen was battling cancer and it was almost more than she could bear. A part of her was dying for they dearly loved each other, sharing the same heart. Lauren lived not too far away and visited often. She was there at the end when Karen lost her fight. While Karen battled her disease I frequently wrote my babbling, rambling epistles trying to cover every aspect of life hoping just by their eternal length her life would be prolonged because she would have to finish reading them. Typically, I would reassure her of God's love and mine, always important in life and even more when we face the abyss. Karen would answer all my letters until I no longer received replies. I sensed the worst. Shortly thereafter Lauren called and with her heart broken told me Karen was dead. We shared memories, I tried to console her for I loved her too. We said our goodbyes and I got off the phone and wept. Sometime later, soon after her death, Obie and I attended her memorial at the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary on Orange Grove in Pasadena, (she is interred in South San Gabriel). At the memorial, I got to see her family photos from Europe, her husband whom I never met (he was not at the service), and more photos of her and her boys. I lingered at her photo. My fingers traced her face and touched her unforgettable smile. Karen. Karen. Karen. I looked at her for some time remembering all the times she blessed my life. After a long pause, full of reflection, I simply said 'Goodbye, my sweet friend. I will NOT forget you. Till we picnic again.' That's important: to remember and treasure. Her life counted; she IS NOT forgotten, and her legacy resides within me. As Obie and I filed out of the service I thought of all life's good-byes, so-longs, terminations, conclusions, graduations, etc. were but perpetual warnings of our impending doom, the ultimate 'good-bye.' I vowed they would also be reminders for me to love richly and often, never missing an opportunity to say, 'I love you' to those I cherish. Karen taught me that.


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