Mary Fox 1960-2025

The night of her passing, the actual night I found out, I had a dream of her. Reassuring me that she was at peace, that she went peacefully at home. Weeks prior, I had worried about her death, wondering how she would feel at the end. I remember her telling me she had no regrets while I sat in her office. Her demeanor wasn’t one of fear but sadness for her kids and husband. She told me that the chemo had stopped working and that she would be planning a trip to New York just to get a second look. She wanted to make sure she had done everything she could.

She was in good spirits, even though for a moment, she said she couldn’t help but think about the alternative outcome—death. The visit was comforting but somber as we chatted. It would be the last time we saw each other in person and the first time we said the words “I love you” to each other. Our relationship was mutual yet reserved if that’s what you would call it. She was more affectionate than me at the very beginning, as it was hard for me around that time to be the same.

But over time, we ended up on the same playing field, even though we continued to navigate the thin boundaries of advisor and student to friends. As you know, she was the best example, my Simon B. Wilder. The figure that stood in the shadow of a figure I never had, whilst at the same time, not being exactly that.

The night I found out about her passing, I hadn’t fallen asleep until the wee hours of the morning. Thinking it was going to be a rough night of sleep, I was surprised to wake up to the comforting fact that my previous worries and wonders had been answered. In my dream, I stood in her home, watching her be brought home in her weakened, failed state. Still at peace, but weak and fatigued, there was an absence of chaos as I watched her in her final moments. Later, the dream transformed into a picture of her on my wall—the picture that went out to the students from the college president who announced her abrupt passing.

It was in my dream that the color yellow became a symbol of peace and light. She wore a yellow sweater, and sunlight reflected on her picture frame, a smile, letting me know she was at peace and only offered light in her absence—sunlight. It was the premise of the transition, and when I woke up, it was what I remembered, the only difference being that her sweater in the actual picture was teal or light blue.

Still, I spent that day thinking about the color yellow as I made my way to our local Stadium Thriftway for some items. Before the trip, I had been thinking about picking up some flowers but decided against it and took out one of my favorite fake flower vases with organic flowers that represented the mother figure I had growing up. I felt it represented her too. Walking into Thriftway, there was a display of flowers, and in the center of the roses section were single yellow roses.

I snapped a picture and went on my way after remembering the flowers I placed on my coffee table back at home. After leaving, we decided to walk home as it was a nice day, and I wanted yet another chance to feel close to her. I have a favorite park where we once met up, and since then, it has been a favorite association I have with her in mind.

Before this day, I had been consumed with the feeling that this chapter of my life is coming to an end, that I’d be saying goodbye to the place I have been calling home for the past 7 years. A bittersweet feeling where suddenly, I felt the need to start taking pictures of my favorite places. While walking to the park, there happened to be some of my favorite architecture, so I pulled out my camera/phone and started to snap pictures, while doing so, I also turned towards the entrance of the park and snapped pictures.

And for the first time since her passing, I felt her presence. As I walked across the intersection through the park, I felt the urge to stop and take another video of the park, which I had done countless times. This video was no different, at least until I got home and rewatched it, which is when I saw it—the sun reflecting in every single frame and shot I took. Living in the PNW, we appreciate every single ounce of sun because we are often nutrient-deficient in vitamin D, as we just don’t get much of it, especially in the winter seasons. However, this is the video that I was able to snap, the light and reflection—a symbol of peace and a reminder of her presence.

Last night, I had the idea to Google her again, something that has become a frequent action since her passing. For the first time, what I had been looking for popped up in the search results—her obituary—and in it, it wrote, “Napping or reading on the couch, with the afternoon sun on her face and a cat sleeping on her chest, was one of her favorite pastimes.” Something I didn’t know about her, but it didn’t surprise me. Furthermore, it brings closure and peace to know that when I look towards the sun, there will be a part of her looking back. I wrote this while I was on the bus on my way to pick up The Tao of Warren Buffett: Warren Buffett’s Words of Wisdom by David Clark and Mary Buffett. I had been looking for her in the sun and found myself writing this to look back on while questioning my own belief in the spiritual world and the things we do not know—only that energy can neither be created nor destroyed, and that is all the comfort I need to know she is still with me and those she loved.

P.S. I had this score added to the video I took at the park, but for private reasons, I can’t share that video here. However, if you listen to this while playing the video of the park on mute, you’ll be able to capture the essence of that day.

It just happened to be the perfect score. Below are additional pictures capturing how the sunlight reflected downwards, forming beautiful streaks of light. It was a beautiful day at rest, and once more, I take comfort in the fact that nature always finds a way to bring us closer—not only to ourselves but to those we love, in this life and beyond.