But today is also when my family is making all sorts of arrangements, among them, a memorial service for my dear cousin Ann who died on Sunday.
The word memorial has derivations starting in Latin, not surprisingly:
[Middle English, from Old French, from Late Latin memorile, from neuter of Latin memorilis, belonging to memory, from memoria, memory; see memory.]
from TheFreeDictionaryI especially like "belonging to memory." After someone dies, what better way is there to describe how they can still be in our lives, while no longer physically present?
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With a six year-old daughter who was part of my cousin's life since the day she was born, and vice-versa, I have been struggling for a very long time how I was going to tell her when the inevitable moment came. How much should I tell her? But when it happened, it happened exactly as I do all things—directly. I was as gentle as I could be, told her, answered her questions, and held her as we both cried. One of the only reassuring moments in the conveying of this terrible news was that I could tell her that Ann would always be a part of our lives. That we had memories and pictures and drawings to keep her with us, to help us remember.
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