8/13/08
Sandahbeth Spae, my beloved wife, helpmeet, roommate, hot girlfriend, musical collaborator, confidant, counselor, caregiving client, unindicted coconspirator and occasional sparring partner, died June 15th. She was 57.

No amount of words, plangent or eloquent, dramatic or tersely poetic, will serve to undo that event. In the face of that, I'm not sure I care to do much more than note in passing the usual high points about her grace, her spark, her courage, her tenacious grip on life and so forth. Even at this point, two months later, I still have nothing to say but mush and fluster.

But unless I post some kind of obit here I won't be able to move on, or along, or out, or whatever, with this my customary vehicle of discourse concerning my life or deficiency thereof, which makes my uncustomary lack of verbiage somewhat awkward.

Luckily for me, though, I don't have to cough up some simple-yet-eloquent fromage about my sweet former wifie. Others have taken on that task to much greater effect than I could hope to in my present state of Bereaved Widower making the transition to Bewildered Bachelor. I therefore commend to your attention these two memorials.

The first comes to us from a friend of ancient extraction, Peggy Wendel, aka Spike Wilder, aaka Helen Highwater — and with a provenance like that, you know it's gotta be good. Peggy was a true pillar of strength and comfort at the end of this particular road, along with the woman she quotes, Heather Wiehl, and I'm grateful to be able to host her description (suitably edited for publication by another close friend, Sara Funk).

Sandahbeth Spae, passed away on Sunday, June 15. She and Thaddeus Spae were partners in life and music for 30 years, performing as Amber Tide doing acoustic jazz, blues, gospel and original songs. Sandahbeth was a versatile vocalist who could belt out the blues or scat-sing sophisticated improvisation.

Thaddeus tells how he and Sandahbeth met while busking. She was singing and playing; he set up nearby and blew her away... with his trombone. She got angry and told him he was the rudest man she'd ever met—"and I probably was." However, she'd met her match, and he had met his.

Not only was Sandahbeth a soulful singer, who played guitar, flute and harmonica, she was a classically-trained mime, which added expressive theatricality to her music. For 15 years, they lived the traveling gypsy life, playing festivals and fairs as a married duo.

Later, mounting health problems put Sandahbeth into a wheelchair. But she was a trouper, performing when she could, booking Amber Tide and organizing community events. Thaddeus kept her rolling, wrangling her wheelchair over bumpy ground, loading in and out of their van. They played and sang, staying together in spite of it all, with dedication and humor in the face of physical, financial and emotional challenges.

In April, Sandahbeth was back in the hospital with escalating medical problems. Heather Weihl wrote of her last moments:

...Amber Tide's music played in the background as she slipped from this world, a rose from her garden over her heart, sporting a decal tattoo that Thaddeus placed both on her and on himself stating the essential truth of their lives, "I am with my beloved, my beloved is with me."

Peggy Wendel

The second anecdote was posted on Howlin' Hobbit's blog Ukulele & All That Jazz as a response to a piece he wrote mentioning S's passing:

I remember going to a little BBQ joint with my daughter (sticker shock at the price of the ribs, but OMG worth every penny), where a little guy with a uke sang his heart out and an older gentleman on the trombone did the same (when he wasn't tootin' his horn).

I remember the sparkle in the old busker's eyes when the woman in the electric wheelchair came up to sing solo. She had a voice that would fill a concert hall, and made that little place feel like one.

It took a few beats for me to log that this was Thaddeus' wife. And before the end of the song I understood that this couple had shared a love of music for a very long time.

Then the set was over, I put money in the jar and we left. My daughter and I talked about the night's entertainment on the drive home. Snake Suspenders got high marks, of course. But we both agreed that the woman in the chair had some serious pipes, and we enjoyed her singing more than anything.

I had forgotten her name, or didn't catch it the first time.

Sandahbeth? Was that her?

She touched our hearts, my daughter and I. She will be missed.

dez - Thursday, June 19, 2008 - 07:01