Obituary of Brigitte Gertrud von Haken

von Haken, Brigitte As the sun rose on the second Tuesday morning in June, Brigitte von Haken gave a final friendly nod to death and joined the wind. She was 83.

In the six months since she was diagnosed with Leukemia, Brigitte made it her task to help those she was closest to find the courage to see into the darkness and recognize its gift. Accepting death wasn't about giving in - this formidable woman was roof-raking with a hemoglobin of 4 for goodness sake - it was a necessary piece of her own spiritual practice of living, and her gratitude for a life well-earned, through hardship and joy.

Leaving behind the unmoored Germany she was born into, Brigitte boarded a boat bound for Halifax in 1951. She left behind the bread lines she stood in as a five-year-old, the late-night train rides out of Berlin to avoid the falling bombs, and the refugee camps where her father became a black market maven, hiding eggs under the floorboards, and the room where she slept with her three sisters, Ulla, Hanni, and Janni.

She survived a journey at sea that should have taken five days, but because of raging ocean storms, took 13. For nearly two weeks, the 11-year-old Brigitte ate nothing but potato peel water and watched the ceiling drip, feeling certain death was coming. Once safely on land, Brigitte and her family boarded a train bound for Ontario. A Canadian handed her a paper wrapped sandwich of white bread and SPAM; she often said that it tasted like freedom.

Brigitte had a magical brain that pulsed along the confluence of art and science, letters and numbers, music and logic. And she was hilarious. She was the first in her family to go to college. Fate would put Peter March in her path, and he made her laugh enough for her to marry him in 1964. Two daughters and a few states later, the laughter died - Brigitte found herself abandoned, divorced, and a single mother. That was when her true, chosen life began.

While raising her daughters, Jennifer and Stephanie, she put herself through night school, and earned her CPA. She would end her career as the CFO of a construction company, where far too many men deluded themselves into the belief they were running things. Brigitte was known to bring a croquet mallet to meetings and just set it on the table - never wielding it, never even referencing it, just keeping it close, as a message.

Brigitte found her soulmates while chirping in the choir loft above St. Martin's Episcopal. This choral group became her social set and they sang ridiculously difficult, elaborate, downright Gregorian music with gusto, whether in local churches or sites in Europe. This choir played as hard as it sang, going on extravagant mini-golf outings dressed in ball gowns, and hosting an organized food fight because none of them had ever been in one. Her singular soprano was often picked out by her children, as it rose and bumped against cathedral ceilings trying to reach God.

Her best days were spent with her grandkids Megan, Joey, Matt, Jake, and Tristen, as she proudly watched them become adults, crafting their own lives. The addition of Andrew and Ryan to the mix only turnt the party up. She was thrilled by her great-grandkids, Lyla and PJ, who reignited her memory of German singsongs. She read books like others breathe air, and her penchant for arriving at your door with a paper bag full of Swedish crime novels was legendary. She loved a good verbal spar, and would never back down from a challenge, but would happily listen to your point of view and then go read six more sources to prove you wrong-er. She never suffered fools nor bores, nor many Republicans. Her people are sad, but unbroken. They understand that Brigitte left on her own terms, never abandoned by her signature brand of wisdom tinged with biting wit.