Alexa Rae Cobbs

Alexa Rae Cobbs, Rae to most, was born 23 October, 1947 in Pedley, California, first of five children of Laurence Johnstone Brown and Vance Alexa Brown, nee Bloodgood. Her dad ran a farm business which her mom assisted with, and Rae was given tasks as a young girl, was intrigued by the grain elevator, got to know some of the hens and the mammals, was treated to many a chicken dinner which she had mixed feelings about, and an abhorrence of eating meat would come and go throughout her life. Her dad was complex as dads tend to be, but essentially loving, her mom a strong woman who possessed depths of sweetness and kindness-Rae would say time and time again, she always felt cared for and loved. She has written of childhood memories in her poetry and in her unfinished novel Blake's Crossing, in which her dad, an artist, is visited by the spirit of William Blake, who becomes an artistic and spiritual mentor.

Rae's mom had two more girls, Lyn and Carol, first, then two boys, Frank, and the baby, Pete. My impression is that all four siblings looked up to big sister Rae, and Rae adored each of them. This is not always so in a large family, but Rae was about love, forgiving apparent faults and celebrating strengths. Additionally, Rae spoke of growing up with a closeness to her cousin, these were friendships that stayed strong despite distance and time. I am sure I am missing a few but there are countless stories with her siblings and cousin's Dana, Laurie, Chris, Miltie, and Neal. Rae was apparently the only one of the five children who continued with the Unitarianism she was introduced to young; she would reiterate that she was so glad for her early exposure to this religion, because it enabled her to comprehend the communalities between all religions. She was until late in life more of a Universe than a God person, but as Christian friend stated, Rae was the most spiritual person she knew, and she certainly latched onto the central principle of UUism, that four-letter word, LOVE.

No ups or downs in life would stop Rae from loving; she had a huge capacity for joy, tempered by sometimes quite sober view of reality; she would always find hope, though, in the darkest circumstances. She saw good in the most problematic of humans, cared deeply about everyone she came across, always wanted the very best for each person, be they family or total stranger (she really knew no strangers). She loved the well-loved, but she had a huge heart for the underdog, and those less well-understood.

Animals were people, too, for Rae. Her home was always full of beloved dogs and cats, but it wasn't a freak-out if a big possum wandered in {she once carried a big'un out of the house by the tail) and she rescued a white rat her son had brought home for his snake, called him Disney and kept him as a pet. Hate to say it, but if mice were in the house, as they often were, she found these adorable as well, even while applauding Lily the hound mix, who was an even better mouser than any of the felines.

She loved to dig in the soil and plant, but it was ironically a bit of a struggle to garden because the trees she and her husband Gary had planted as a young couple had grown to throw too much shade. Still every spring she needed to be supervised at Planet Kingdom, or she would buy the place out (jk), green growing things just excited her so much. In essence, she loved the Earth and all flora and fauna it produced.

Rae would speak so very often of her children, how proud she was because each had chosen his or her own path; they were miracles to her, individuals in the best sense. Her grandchildren range in age from 27-year-old Briley, a grade school teacher in Mississippi, who gave birth last year to Rae's first great-grandchild, Baylor Grace. Briley's brother Brayden, 25, is a handsome athletic fellow, now preparing for a career in the golf industry is entering the Professional Golf Management program to become a Certified PGA Professional. His dad, Rae's oldest, Joshua is the Director of Food & Beverage at the PGA Golf Club, both are living in Florida.

It may seem that I digress from speaking of Rae herself, but Rae was never the sort of person to want to be the only character in her story. It's always been for her about those she especially loves, her parents, who would come to her in vivid dreams quite often after they had both passed, her siblings and cousins, her children, and so awesomely to her, her grandchildren. The youngest is Aiden, now 2, whose red hair harkens back to his great-grandpa Cobbs-oh, Aiden is the sweetest, he has a special place in my heart, he's my favorite, she would sometimes say. But then Oliver, who is 3. Oh, he is such a sweet dynamo, full of beautiful mischief, he's my favorite. Then bright-eyed Abby, who is 4. Oh, she's so crafty and inventive, she has such a lovely spirit, certainly Abby is my favorite. But then there is Silas, who is 6. Oh, Silas is my hero. He is so bright, so artistic, so much fun, I'd have to say Silas is my favorite. But of course Rae would not neglect the older kids, first off Andrew, her son Gabe's and Amanda's child, who graduated high school this spring, bound for Bellarmine University. There was a beautiful graduation photo which I showed Rae, she said he is the most handsome young man I've ever seen, and look at the wisdom in his face. Marshall, his younger sibling, has, Rae remarked, amazing poise, maturity, and sweetness at 14. Rae was over the moon to receive a visit from Marshall not long before she passed. Rae treasured all of the relationships that her journey brought her. She valued all the relationships with family and friends, who were an extension of family, her chosen family.

Rae's love of small children was deep and longstanding. She taught Sunday School at First Unitarian Church for more then 20 years, delighting in bringing to kids from 3-7 an appreciation for that which had so fascinated her, the diversity of ways different peoples understood the Universe, God, the meaning of life. She raised her own children in the church, feeling she was giving them a foundation, not in You Must Believe This or That, but in coming to know themselves, what made sense to each of them individually. Josh was born in California in 1971, Rae married Gary Cobbs there, and the small family moved to Rochester, NY, a rather shocking change in climate, while Gary did his post-doc in Biology; he was then hired by the University of Louisville, and the Cobbs have been here ever since (though Josh would move to Mississippi and marry Lisa, the mother of his two). Gary and Rae would continue there support of each other throughout the years, Rae appreciated and valued this relationship. In 1976 Gabriel was born, in 1979 Ian, Julia in 1982, and Ben on Christmas Eve, 1984. Rae had begun college in Riverside at UCR. She finished at U of L, with children on her knee; she did graduate work and some teaching there, as well. In the wee hours of the morning, after feeding infants, she would scribble down poems. Her dear friend Rachel Matheis went through her boxes at one point and proclaimed she had 7-8 books' worth of poems. Her beloved instructor, Leon Driskell, advised her to wait to seek publication, so she waited. She has published few poems, but what thrilled her most was the joy of writing and sharing.

I met Rae in the fall of 1990 in Sena Naslund's graduate level writing seminar. Sena would later write Ahab's Wife, a bestseller, and found what is now called the Naslund-Mann Graduate School of Writing, based at Spalding University. Rae would attend this graduate school, beginning in 2002, and graduate two years later with a Master of Fine Arts in Writing. This was the more formal aspect of her involvement with poetry. She was part of writing and poetry groups in Louisville, The Night writers, the Louisville Poets' Guild, Green River Writers, the Chartreuse Table. She was involved for several years with the Kentucky Writers' Coalition, and had essays published in two of their publications, Place Gives Rise to Spirit and the Tobacco Anthology.

But Rae wasn't excessively caught up in her own poetry-she loved reading and hearing and encouraging the poetry and prose of others. In the 80's and 90's she taught poetry with the public school system to children of all ages. For many years she taught in the summer at the Young Writer's Workshop connected to the Youth Performing Arts School. She taught poetry and short story to kids from early elementary school through 8th grade.

After a stint in the education arm of Americore Vista, Rae took a job in fall of 2003 as Writing Center Consultant at Jefferson Community and Technical College. She worked with students on their essays and research. In the spring she took over some classes, and then she taught English Composition until her health began to decline at the end of 2012. She put her all into teaching, adored her students. But we had a private joke because on the first day of class she would ask her students to write a statement about themselves, and one young man had written, "I have always hated WRITHING." Rae would solemnly tell me, Do avoid writhing at all cost.

Rae was diagnosed with a rare kidney disease, fibrillary glomerulonephritis, on her birthday in 2010. Her attitude was not at all "poor me," but she stated, "Ah, now I can have a clue what will bring about my mortality." But Rae got as much out of the remaining 13 years of her life as she possibly could-not weekend trips to Paris, but loving her family and friends- though some of her friends did drift away as Rae became less active and available-writing like crazy, reading, attending meetings and readings, seeing movies, playing with the pets-but for Rae, even going to the grocery store was a marvelous adventure. There were many dinner parties in her home, for a good while the little yellow camelback felt like a place of Grand Hospitality. Of course, she would spent as much time with family as possible. She loved to play Boggle and could beat anyone; the dining room table which could get cluttered would be cleared, the leaf put in the middle-or the party would take place on the back patio.

Dialysis had been inevitable, and when it started. Rae was a soldier, on the one hand, and treated each session as a social event. Though mainly vegetarian, she would often crave a burger afterward, as dialysis depletes a person. Her home became increasingly difficult to manage, so her daughter Julia placed her in a pleasant apartment building called Friendship House, where she was social and adjusted well for about a year. On 3 December, 2021, she was very weak and Julia sent her to the ER; it turned out she had sepsis. This was the beginning of the final chapter of her life.

She would think back fondly to Christmas that year, Josh bringing her to the family party at Gary and Allie's house. And after discharge from rehab at Masonic Home, she began an interlude that made all the difference to her, staying with Julia and her family. Playtime and story time with Aiden and Abby, trips to Ben & Christine's home where she could visit with Silas and Ollie, a lovely caretaker from Somalia named Taiwo who would put on upbeat music and get Rae dancing in her chair; toward spring Alex would grill, Julia had a friend come over and cut everyone's hair in the backyard. These were memories Rae spoke of for the remainder of her time on Earth. But she had to move on, and eventually she was placed at Signature East, where she was at first a bit restless but then would speak of her gratitude; the staff was mainly lovely; a nursing home just needs a creative vegetarian chef. She developed an addiction to the Egg Foo Young Julia would order for her, and olives stuffed with blue cheese. It was at signature that she began her work with Julia, her music therapist. Together they continued her poetry, created music, and cherished art. These visits brought her so much joy!

It wasn't so much that Rae fought her kidney disease, but she fought for every moment of happy alert interactive time that God would grant her. And by now she felt strongly that God was in charge of her life. She felt he tested her, with, all told, 2 bouts of sepsis, a nasty 2 weeks of isolation with covid, and RSV which was maybe worst of all, and it segued into pneumonia, and other challenging sometimes painful health issues, but her resilience amazed all who were tuned in to her journey. Her mind might seem irretrievable, but then she would bounce back and be sharp as a tack, able to discuss creative, intellectual, and spiritual ideas. Yes, she was diagnosed with dementia, and there were practical details she was foggy on, and sometimes she would repeat stories, talking to her children. I am of the school that believes everything matters. Even unexpressed thoughts, and certainly all interactions, and Rae spoke of feeling the same way. Her cherished brother Frank, who had been calling her frequently and a great comfort to her, passed away about a month before Rae, his death following quickly upon the death of her sister Lyn's son, Brian. These deaths were heavy and hard for Rae; she wished she could travel to California to grieve with her remaining siblings. She worked to wrap her mind around the idea, death was not final and absolute, and just as her parents were so real to her, so she would again meet Frank and Brian, as would Carol, Lyn, and Pete. We who are left behind might debate such matters, but I feel Rae's evolving relationship with spirituality and the divine was not a product of dementia but real and genuine and that we can think of Rae, now having achieved departure from a tired and uncomfortable anatomy, thanks to the God she prayed to, as being in a place where she can look back on all of it with gratitude.

Written by her loving friend and soulmate, Harriet Leach.

Each of us that knew mom were enriched by her. She had eyes of the ocean with deep waves of blue, gray, and green, hair that melted in your fingers like silk weed, and an ability to hug all the way to your soul. Her heart and her house never met a stranger and that brought her pride and joy. She taught us to think of others in the big ways and the small ways. She taught us the richness of laughter and being with those you love. She filled our childhoods with memories of baked Alaska, cross county camping, mud pie picnics, and frog princesses. Her lessons were never told, but shown in ways that may not have held their weight for many years to come, but nonetheless, they were learned. Her words mostly flowed with purpose and beauty. But every now and then, with those she loved, she would embellish conversations with raspberries and choice words to lighten the mood. She is still teaching me, to not take life so seriously, that comes at too big of a cost. She was a gentle soul but fought with intention when a passion was ignited. She stood up for her kids in ways that we can only understand now that we are parents ourselves. We miss her immensely but relish in knowing we had her alongside us for so many of life's blessings. She is loved beyond measure and I find solace in knowing so much of who I am as a mom and as a human is because of her. I hope, when my time on earth is complete I am able to leave it behind as a better place, just as my mom did for us.

Written by Julia Cobbs Shaw, Rae's daughter.

Mom forever will be a soft and kind soul. She taught me patience, humility and above all else the power of unconditional love. She encouraged me to laugh at myself and to trust in the kindness of genuine human spirit. Doing the right thing was my responsibility, being a good person was expected. This is what I hope I have passed on to my own children.

Mom shared everything she had and that enriched anyone who had the pleasure to meet her. Mom loved being alive and she projected that feeling to everyone she met. Mom found beauty in the ripples of a puddle, peace at hearing fall leaves crunch under her feet and youthful anticipation in the smell of an old dusty book. She would rather surround herself with volumes of tattered handwritten notebooks containing random thoughts and poignant messages from friends while wearing mis-matched socks and an old sweater that she can't recall where it came from; drinking black coffee and listening to her sweet Lilly snore than be anywhere else in the world. Mom was simple in her desires and complex in her intellectual perception of the world around her. The social injustices and conflicts of recent times made mom mad, but deep inside she was more disappointed in society and frustrated in herself that she couldn't do more to fix the world. But, that's when she would shrug, blow a big raspberry and her infectious smile and soft eyes would take back over.

As a young family we did not have an easy go of it. Struggles were real but I do not have any memories of going without. Mom (and dad!) made sure that Christmas happened. Birthday cakes were homemade and perfectly imperfect. We were so lucky to have a backyard to explore full of amazing crawly things, a box full of broken crayons, string, glue and popsicle sticks to create fridge-worthy works of art and the freedom of unbridled imagination to fuel story time as we cuddled on the couch. Mom loved being a mother and she made sure that our youth was a special time of comfort and exploration. I felt safe. Our family grew and so did the demands on mom and her resources. I know it disappointed her that she at times felt like she couldn't do more, give more or provide more--but we all knew we were loved. More than that, we knew we were cherished even with our individual idiosyncrasies and requests. Mom always did what she could and in the end we were always satiated.

Mom gave so others could have. It started with us, her children, and eventually enveloped her persona completely. I still remember the conversation with her when she was diagnosed with terminal kidney disease. When the subject of a transplant was first broached, mom simply shook her head and said "No, there's someone else that needs it more than me." That selflessness defined mom. It made her calm and empowered her to overcome any sense of unachieved physical possessions. You can't buy that sort of inner peace.

I look back at faded pictures of my mother and I from our early days together, just the two of us. Me with my wide eyes, untamed curls and bare feet. Mom with her chestnut hair hanging to her waist and a joyful smile. The warm California sun softly on her cheeks. Her eyes were alive with an energy and eagerness that she would pass on to me as we dove head first into the unknown world ahead. In the last few weeks of her life we returned to those days. I sat bedside with her, holding her now fragile hand, we reminisced and she once again had that energy in her eyes. Her body was failing her, but her spirit never waivered. I truly am a better man, father and person because of my mothers simple take on life. "Do unto others" takes on multiple layers of meaning, "being kind and decent" is never an option. My greatest childhood memory is falling asleep with her soft hand rubbing my back--such a simple and yet powerful gesture. She has touched the world with the same powerful softness.

Joshua Michael Cobbs--eldest son