Thinking of you especially today. Elliott Smith on my I-pod. I miss your hair and smile. I love you forever, Lizzy.
Love,
Cousin Nicholas
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5 comments:

  1. Mary MarkertDecember 2, 2010 at 1:15 PM

    Ditto.
    Love Mary

    ReplyDelete
  2. Liza BennettDecember 2, 2010 at 3:09 PM

    This Emily Dickinson poem reminds me of the terrible numbness I felt after Elizabeth died. Though the ‘Hour of Lead’ is over, I think this day will always be a deeply sad one for everyone who loved Elizabeth. Liza and Bill


    After Great Pain, A Formal Feeling Comes


    After great pain, a formal feeling comes --
    The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs --
    The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
    And Yesterday, or Centuries before?

    The Feet, mechanical, go round --
    Of Ground, or Air, or Ought --
    A Wooden way
    Regardless grown,
    A Quartz contentment, like a stone --

    This is the Hour of Lead --
    Remembered, if outlived,
    As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow --
    First -- Chill -- then Stupor -- then the letting go --

    ReplyDelete
  3. -eDecember 2, 2010 at 6:37 PM

    i loved how her hair matched the freckles on her nose. i think of her often - especially in the fall or when something is so funny i cry laughing. i miss her perfect giggle.

    ReplyDelete
  4. AnonymousDecember 2, 2010 at 11:03 PM

    My heart is with all of you, particularly on this day.

    All my warmest wishes,
    Skye

    ReplyDelete
  5. AnonymousDecember 6, 2010 at 10:17 PM

    Although I didn't stop here on the 2nd, you were all in my thoughts all day long. December is a dark, cold month, made only more so for you all, I know.
    Wishing you peace,
    Claire

    ReplyDelete

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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