Invitation to contribute

This is an invitation to post and comment to this blog. You can become a contributor if you like. The blog was meant as a way for as many people to contribute as liked to, as a collaborative effort. There is now a counter to see if it is being viewed since there are so few comments. And then the comments are anonymous. It would be good to have comments and contributions from those of you who have found the blog meaningful to you. As her mother, I don't want to dominate the conversation, but also would understand if you don't feel up to being a contributor. It would just be good to hear from people. For instance, how many would like to have the video back?
Patty


8 comments:

  1. I drop by silently often to see photos of Elizabeth, to hear from you, her Mom - to read words that have emerged. Remembering Elizabeth's life is a pleasure, despite the actute pain of her death. I find it meaningful to see/hear how you're doing, through your poetry and other contributions.
    If an expiration date is something you choose, I understand - but will miss this collection of photos, your poems, her words.

    xo
    anne

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  2. Thanks for the feedback, Anne. I took off that expiration date bit about Lizzy's birthday, and am asking a more open question now, just to see if others would like to contribute.

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  3. Patty, I dropped by to leave a donation to the Narrowsburg Library. I will send a check, but perhaps if there were a link. I want very much to see the video back and am so glad you have pulled the expiration. Your site is priceless in it's collection of pictures and written material to keep our beautiful Elizabeth alive. I am so grateful to be able to access this site and spend time with her. It really is a privilege that you have offered us. Thank you.

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  4. Thanks, Cindy.

    It is good to know.

    Patty

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  5. I just wanted to say that I check this blog regularly, and even though I don't think I could contribute I do find what is posted here a very meaningful way to remember Elizabeth. It is extremely kind of you to post such heartfelt pictures and writing, it is wonderful to be able to see them.

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  6. Dear Chloe,

    It is good to hear from you, and to know that you are stopping by to read. I still have a picture in Elizabeth's room of you two the summer you visited us on the Delaware. If you are ever in New York, please give us a call.

    Love,

    Patty

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  7. Julie Markert PinkstonOctober 6, 2008 at 2:47 AM

    Dear Patricia,
    From the photos I have seen of your lovely young Elizabeth and from her writings I truly wish I had had the chance to know her. I happened on your blog while looking for further entries about my niece, Devon Markert, who passed away 2 weeks ago.
    Devon was 28, so we were blessed to have a few more years to watch her blossom into an amazing young woman.
    I felt compelled to reach out to you, dealing with your loss with beautiful words, struggling to find meaning through the grief and pain. I wanted to thank you for sharing, for inspiring.
    We are linked across a continent, by loss of a loved one at too early an age, linked by a common name, linked by a love of words, poetry, reading, libraries, books. Establishing a book fund is a wonderful way to carry forward your daughter's spirit.

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  8. Dear Julie Markert Pinkston,

    Thank you for writing. I wonder if we are related in some way...besides by having in common the loss of a beautiful young woman in the family.

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Please leave a comment

How Dina Aunty relished her memories. Mummy and Daddy were the same, talking about their yesterdays and smiling in that sad-happy way while selecting each picture, each frame from the past, examining it lovingly before it vanished again in the mist. But nobody ever forgot anything, not really, though sometimes they pretended, when it suited them. Memories were permanent. Sorrowful ones remained sad even with the passing of time, yet happy ones could never be re-created—not with the same joy. Remembering bred its own peculiar sorrow. It seemed so unfair: that time should render both sadness and happiness into a source of pain.

> From A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry