tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574271952579140160.post5616307911662678444..comments2024-02-02T03:30:23.617-05:00Comments on Divinipotent Daily: The Perfect ElegyMichele Hushhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979878503237070839noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574271952579140160.post-43594855549557622532012-04-22T13:50:01.443-04:002012-04-22T13:50:01.443-04:00That's it exactly: Those we love remain so ali...That's it exactly: Those we love remain so alive in our thoughts. Some people say or write that they begin to lose the appearance, smell, sound of the person, but for me those things have stayed sharp. I know you've mentioned it before, but I'd forgotten your dad died so young. I'm sorry you lost him at such a young age.Katherine C. Jameshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08834591103511225376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574271952579140160.post-39316915210653538672012-04-22T13:17:43.190-04:002012-04-22T13:17:43.190-04:00I agree, Katherine. As I think you know, I'm a...I agree, Katherine. As I think you know, I'm a nonbeliever. Among other things, that means the only afterlife I anticipate is whatever memories linger with people who knew me. <br /><br />It would be hard to imagine any loving person wanting the ones left behind to remain in mourning forever. Imagine the narcissism that would take. And from what I know of your family, that is the last thing they'd want for you. <br /><br />My dad died in 1960. It boggles my mind to think it's been 52 years - that's one year shy of his age when he died - because he's so alive in my thoughts. And that's as it should be.<br /><br />Thank you for sharing your story.Michele Hushhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16979878503237070839noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574271952579140160.post-75464045423530302152012-04-21T22:12:54.713-04:002012-04-21T22:12:54.713-04:00Thank you for the wonderful poem, links, and thoug...Thank you for the wonderful poem, links, and thoughts during poetry month. After my beloved younger brother-in-law died leaving young daughters, two of my nieces, and his wife, my younger sister, my devastation surprised me. On my rocky road from grief to understanding forever tinged with sadness and anger that he—so particularly kind, smart, funny, loving—is gone, someone said to me, "Is what you are doing to yourself now in your mourning what he would wish for you?" I was surprised and altered, albeit slowly, by the question. The answer was no. My brother-in-law, my dad, my Aunt Josephine, my friend Michael; all these people who were gone from my life, would want me to go on and to be happy. They'd want me to do for me and others what they could no longer do. We are never finished with the dead we loved. Our conversations go on until we also are no more. And after that? I suspect someone else continues the chain.Katherine C. Jameshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08834591103511225376noreply@blogger.com