Remember Sarah Bishop
home remembrance book
camp adams scholarship photo album contact
intro page poetry


Iain More for Iain More and Pam Siler

Cindy Sousa

Bob & Karen Williams
Megan, Tom & Brittany Sesulka
Mindy & Mike Hescock

Alice Williams Jackson

Armon Bud Ketchum

Nicola DeBolt Robertson

Andy Maffei and Ruth Weston

Kyrie’ Thompson

Gina Fleck

Carrie Hanson

Andrew Huddleston

Nancy Cushwa & Peter Teneau

Anne LaVallee

Evie Frost

Isaac Kamola

Brian Griffin

Karl Anderson

Steve Sall

Ken Denniston

Johan Sandberg

Eve Heidtmann
Sarah and Evan

Jonathan Scott Dickson

Amy Leavitt

Jody Houghton

Jennifer Voelker

Wendy Gerlach

Mike and Barb Russell and Family

Cathy Tinker

Justin Gardiner

Heidi Harr

Emilie Shireen Press

Micah Russell

Elise Thatcher


Amanda Deutch

Griff Ocker

Kate Brandy

From the PCTA hikers list

Judy Bishop


Griff Ocker, a former supervisor of Sarah's at Harry's Mother


I don’t know if a person can be all these things and still live in fear.

I do know that I am very sad for us to have lost her—that she’s not here with us (and for us) any more. I am especially sad for her family and those closest to her. I know that losing a child is the hardest strain there is. I hope they know of the respect and support we carry for them and with them.

But as sad as I feel, as much as I try to make sense of our loss, I also keep turning over and over in my head this very basic question—is it better to live a short brave life or a long one of fear and cowering…that is, to open or to close ourselves to life and whatever it offers?

We love you, Sarah, as a friend, as a wise old soul and as a grown-up kid…a child’s heart and a woman’s eyes.

Give, give, give, give, give, give, give.
Build up, don’t tear down.
Strategize, don’t criticize.
Lend a hand.
Listen, listen, and care.
Wear your love and care on the outside.
Never show off.
So matter of fact in your brilliance.
Put it all together—pull all together.
Just do it.
So young—so much to do.
How much you’ve given us.
Inspiration and courage.
Now you can see mostly clearly.
Help us learn to live without you—it’s hard.
Beautiful woman and little girl.
The river took her away.
What was that moment like—did you know? As it washed you awayas you flowed into another life? As you flowed into a hole—as you flowed into the whole.

As your hair floats on the water.
As your eyes go distant.
As your heart and mind go cold and quiet.
As your face goes pale.
As your strong and subtle body turns to a rag, goes limp, stops fighting, and joins the current…

I play that movie in my head—a thousand times and more—I just can’t stop it—over and over.

Rushing water—crashing, tumbling, reaching, choking, gasping

Who could have known? Who knew? Who knows?

You know … you know now … now you know everything.

Now I’m getting far enough away—I’ve got the distance to look up and see you smiling and laughing above…calm and peaceful and playful and happy. ( you might as well be happy.)

Huddled over your body, blinded by that movie, burred by tears, heaving for breath, face in my hands, I couldn’t see you…just above us…grinning and trying to tickle us.

But now I’m starting to open my eyes and face the light…and I see the real you…shining bright as ever…reminding us to look ahead…what great things are coming next…what will we do from here? Thank you for reminding us. We’re still here—and we’re gonna need that from time to time.

You must be used to flying already. It probably wasn’t even that much of a transition for you.
Inspiration to us all.
Be there to help.
Choose your own life—clear and free.
Sweet Sarah, you lived a real life for real.

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