Dear Visitors

Dear Visitors to Elizabeth's Blog,

Thank you for coming to this site.  It is wonderful that you are still thinking of her.  Please feel free to say something.  I really cherish every little message left here.

Thank you again.

 Patricia Aakre


  1. Dear Patty,
    I visit with some regularity. Again, I offer a mother's sympathy to you.

    I have a wonderful compilation of poetry called "Americans' Favorite Poems"-perhaps you know the book. This poem struck me.

    Robert Desnos
    Translated from the French by X.J. Kennedy

    I have so fiercely dreamed of you
    And walked so far and spoken of you so,
    Loved a shade of you so hard
    That now I've no more left of you.
    I'm left to be a shade among shades
    A hundred times more shade than shade
    To be a shade cast time and time again into your sun-transfigured life.

    Wishing you peace and more lovely memories,

  2. Thank you, Claire, for this poem by Robert Desnos. I love that line, "To be a shade cast time and time again into your sun-transfigured life."

  3. Thank you, Patty. This blog is something I look forward to reading. it is very helpful and a beautiful way to remember Elizabeth. Thank you again. Love, Emma

  4. It's good to hear from you, Emma.

  5. I find myself thinking about Elizabeth and my last memories of her on Smith campus. Unfortunately, I only got to know her for a short period of time, but I remember going into her room to try and do math homework, which we both hated. I would always stay looking around her room at her collection of figures on top of her bureau etc. I still remember that look. This is an amazing site by the way. Your daughter was beautiful. May she rest in Peace.

  6. Hi, Patty. Was thinking about Elizabeth today. I still come here frequently, like to look at the photos she took, posts on the gifts she gave, assignments she wrote, et. all. I hope that you and I can see each other for coffee or tea sometime in the near future.


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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