It was a stunner to get an early morning text telling me that Wendy was dead. I knew her awfully well; we lived together for an awful long time. You may have heard of her; she was a renowned activist and agitator and do-er. Her outside life was focused on rights for prostitutes; she is …
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Wendy Babcock and Jesus

It was a stunner to get an early morning text telling me that Wendy was dead. I knew her awfully well; we lived together for an awful long time.

You may have heard of her; she was a renowned activist and agitator and do-er. Her outside life was focused on rights for prostitutes; she is apparently the person who invented and created the Bad Date Book in cooperation with city police, to help prostitutes keep tabs on dangerous johns. Almost immediately before meeting Wendy, I discovered that a prostitute whom I was vaguely familiar with had been murdered, so it seemed fortuitous to make her acquaintance. It was probably simultaneous to our house-sharing time that Robert Picton was luring women to his farm to slaughter them. That Wendy created that Bad Date Book venture to protect prostitutes with Toronto police (whom she did not have a high opinion of, yet worked effectively with) is evidence of her formidable creative energy and ability to work with others. She had the power to make changes in the world around her; the Force was with her. One of our roommates, with much experience in professional partisan politics, opines without hesitation that she would have one day been an elected politician had she not died. He is probably right; beyond her creative energy, she certainly had a following who believed in her and supported her vocally.

Like this person, I will admit to you that I found Wendy frightening.  That doesn’t mean that I didn’t also admire her creative powers, as well as her commitment to a cause.  Whatever quality of hers scared me, it can’t be attributed to evil or bad character, but merely to chemistry (people have told me that they find me intimidating as well).

I shared real life experiences with Wendy; we definitely had times together. I’ve certainly been heard to say negative things about her aloud.

One interesting hypothetical dilemma of ethics: if you had dirt on Jesus, whose example and life many look to for guidance, in whom many find enormous inspiration, would you spill it?  I think it’s better that people believe in their heroes (and sheroes).

I have no dirt on Wendy; just some experiences. Believe me, there is no dirt on Wendy Babcock — she washed her laundry so publicly that it’s orange-scented and folded and impervious to further staining. Just her example of honesty about the past and about life and about her experiences make her an example for all of us in the world.

I remember finding a Friend Request from her on LinkedOn and debating whether or not I should okay it; I never did. Wendy, I’m sorry about that. I can’t believe that you committed suicide; I just don’t see that in you. I know, I believe, it was an accident, and I’m awful, awful, awful sorry. We’re all mixed up and we’re all trying to be good and aiming to do right; I know you were on a remarkable path and I’m deeply regretful, I’m very saddened, that you weren’t given the chance to find your way to the proper, real end of it. I wish that you had; I’m awfully curious where it would have led to. We all have potential; you had a lot more than most of us.  You made a difference in the world in a brief span of time.