On May 27, 2018, Lizann Bassham died. I've written about it in this blog post, but realize I never posted a reference to this here on her blog about her last writing project. And I suppose there may be some people who follow this blog, who get notifications when something is posted, so it is past time to post something here. My apologies for not doing so sooner.
I suspect it's true for all of her friends, that in the 10 months since her death, we have been remembering her. For me, Facebook's daily Memories feature brings up something almost daily — a post she made on my wall, a photo of something we did together, a post or a link that reminds me of a discussion we had. And the moon — whenever the moon is full, I think of her. And when I wish I could bitch with her about something or get her help with screwing my head on straight about something that has me bent out of shape, I miss her so deeply.
There are still days when that remembering brings me to tears. I find some comfort in the title she had tentatively given the book she never got to finish, What's Remembered Lives! The very act of laughing at a joke she posted on my facebook wall years ago, the very act of missing being able to discuss something with her, the very experiences of anger and sadness and loneliness are ways of allowing her to continue to live, if in a new way.
What's remembered lives! We will continue to remember you, Lizann!
Peace,
Jeff Spencer, webmaster
I suspect it's true for all of her friends, that in the 10 months since her death, we have been remembering her. For me, Facebook's daily Memories feature brings up something almost daily — a post she made on my wall, a photo of something we did together, a post or a link that reminds me of a discussion we had. And the moon — whenever the moon is full, I think of her. And when I wish I could bitch with her about something or get her help with screwing my head on straight about something that has me bent out of shape, I miss her so deeply.
There are still days when that remembering brings me to tears. I find some comfort in the title she had tentatively given the book she never got to finish, What's Remembered Lives! The very act of laughing at a joke she posted on my facebook wall years ago, the very act of missing being able to discuss something with her, the very experiences of anger and sadness and loneliness are ways of allowing her to continue to live, if in a new way.
What's remembered lives! We will continue to remember you, Lizann!
Peace,
Jeff Spencer, webmaster
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