Sarah Fox was my dear friend Matt’s girlfriend. It took us nearly two years to meet - them being in NYC and me being out here in L.A.  But he described her so often, relaying things she would say in a soft-voiced imitation of her that told of her gentle thoughftulness even before I experienced it directly.

The last time I saw her was the first weekend of May, during the Coachella Music Festival in the blistering Californian desert. With Radiohead,  Pixies, the Cure and Beck making appearances, ticket prices soared to $75 a day, with the whole weekend running you a painful $150. Matt’s good friend Nathan had, for weeks, been planning to come with us - to share a hotel room with Sarah, Matt, my boyfriend Scott and me - but was crushed to find that no one had gotten him a ticket for his birthday, and so could not go.

Without hesitation, Sarah offered up her Saturday ticket so Nathan could see Radiohead, whom he’d been dying to see. She told me later that she thought it was a win-win situation because this way Nate would be happy, and Matt would get to spend Saturday with his rarely-seen friend. She joked that she had gotten so used to not seeing Radiohead, that it wouldn’t really bother her to go one more year.

She opted to stay in our dull motel room all day, entertaining herself without self-pity or resentment. We talked that day, out by the pool, about her taking some time off from Juilliard. She sounded perfectly right with the world and with herself, exhibiting a self-knowledge and wisdom that promised she would always find contentment no matter what. It was an enveloping comfort when she talked and it made you want to ask her - a shy 22-year old - what you should do with YOUR life.

That night, after Scott and I came back from the concert but before Matt did, I awoke to find her missing. Matt called just then to say they were stuck in traffic and I asked him if he knew where she was. Maybe he had come and picked her up and taken her to a post-show party while Scott and I were sleeping. He sounded confused and a little alarmed. “What do you mean? Isn’t she there?”

I jumped up and opened the motel room door and saw her coming from the parking lot. In my adrenalized worry I sort of shrieked, “Where did you go?”  She gave an amused smile and said “I was looking at the stars, then I talked to some people staying here.” If I had known her longer, I would not have been at all surprised. But it had been a long time since I was that dreamy and carefree, let alone anyone I encountered, and so I was taken pleasantly aback. I was smitten with Sarah, her ease with life and her fearlessness. I knew she was perfect for my friend Matt, whose sensitivity and probing intellect was complemented by hers. They talked about maybe moving out here together - getting out of the city - after she graduated. I think that, for all the excitement and liveliness the city had to offer, it lacked the compassion and abundant nature Matt and Sarah craved.

Last Wednesday, she went out for a jog near their apartment in upper Manhattan.
Today, around 1:30 pm, she was found under the Hudson Bridge.

There is no justice in this world. All claims to the contrary, citing the “mysterious work of God,” resonate as the whimper of a tired and desperate species that takes no true comfort in the guarantee that, if they are good people, lead good and honest lives, and genuinely love life, no harm will come to them.

It simply isn’t true. There are no rules, no sense to be made here, no justice. A preacher might insist that Sarah would not have wanted us to become bitter from this. He might end Sarah’s eulogy with a spiritual balm to soothe the troubled mind, one that promises sweet hereafters and unseen angels - but it would be a fable told to lull children into sleep. It’s just not right, and I can’t feel good about anything at all.

But Sarah, to honor you tonight, I will seek out my old copy of Desiderata:
Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.
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Rest in Peace, Dear Sarah.