Like Father, Like Daughter

More than three decades lie between these books in my library -- Gwyn Williams' To Look for a Word, translations of Welsh poetry into English, was a gift to me in 1977, and my signed copy of Chaliselongue's/Teleri William's In Sight of the Sea passed from her hands to mine at our Blipmeet in September 2011.

Her funeral was today in Béziers. I can only nod my head in agreement, my hands over my heart, at Kendall's beautiful words, my own having dried to dust:

I am still trying to comprehend how this can be. Her love for her husband, for their adult children, for her friends both virtual and face-to-face, for food and wine, for literature, for world events and for social justice--all that love remains. She died in a whirl of activity filled with the happy expectation of more delights, more good work, more writing and photography, more of all that she loved. That's what I know best, without any doubt: that she loved. So the best way we can remember her is to love more of all that we love.

There's rosemary, from my garden this morning, for remembrance.


(Addendum, some hours later: Barrioboy's detailed, exquisite description of Chaiselongue's funeral today made me weep and smile at the same time. My deepest thanks to him for enabling me to feel a part of this day of sorrow and celebration.)