from Nicholas Alciati

I carried a blue plastic dinosaur in my pocket today.
That dinosaur traveled with me to Poughkeepsie to student teach.
That dinosaur ate my awful fast food lunch with me.
That dinosaur was in my pocket when I did a presentation on Robert Rauschenberg today.
That dinosaur was with me when I had the usual hummus and pretzel dinner.
That dinosaur was with me when I sat in my room listening to the Garden State soundtrack remembering the time we sang every song on the railroad tracks.
That dinosaur has gotten me through a lot in the past three years.
That dinosaur was in your dorm room and was given to me by my mom when she broke the news to me three years ago, tomorrow.
That dinosaur was with me at your wake and funeral.
That dinosaur was with me when I decided on which college to go to.
That dinosaur was with me whenever I was having a bad day.
That dinosaur was with me when got admitted into BFA photography program.
That dinosaur was there when I made a book, just for you.
That dinosaur sits next to my bed every night.
That dinosaur is one of the only physical things I have to remember you by.
That dinosaur can never make up for your absence, but the memories I have make things better.
I am so lucky to have known you and without you I may be going to school to just be a number in our society.
I may have denied my artistic passion, but you pushed me to embrace it, rather than hide it.
You influenced me in ways that I think you could never understand.
Although you are gone, you have given me more than most people have in this world.
Gone is such a permanent word, you're not really gone, you're here in other ways and that helps me get through my days as a busy photography student.
I love you Elizabeth, and with your blue dinosaur and the memories I have, I can get through anything.


  1. Nicholas, you are such a faithful friend. Thank you for this on this day.



  2. Patty, I've been trying to find you, and unsure why. Now I think I know. I cannot imagine losing my daughter, but I lost my brother on Nov. 11, 2003. He was murdered. And the hole that created in the universe will never mend. I am so very sorry for your loss.

    Your friend,
    Barbara Burgower Hordern

  3. Thanks, Barbara. It is good to hear from you after so many years.



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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