For My Cousin Amy (1959-2006)
Many of you know that I lost my cousin Amy Saturday night to pancreatic cancer. She and I were more like sisters than cousins, and her passing leaves a very deep hole inside of my heart.
As I lit a yartzite candle for her tonight, I thought about our lives together as cousins. Since she lived in Miami, and I lived in California, we did not see each other as children. We did, however, develop an instant connection over the telephone, and this built up into a wonderful and loving relationship during adulthood.
I can remember Amy coming to Los Angeles to live, and she stayed with me for a short time. We opened our hearts, minds and souls to one another, and we would laugh, cry, dream and chuckle whenever we were together. I can still see her in her pale yellow dress, as a bride's maid in my wedding so many years ago. She had the most intoxicating smile, it was contagious, and her positive attitude and loving heart were instruments of her being that she passed along to all who met her.
We shared so much in common, it was erie. Our mutual love for our dogs, our lipstick, our private jokes and excitement about living. We told each other our deepest, darkest secrets, no matter how horrible they might be, and not ever did she judge me nor I judge her. We were both just 'cuzzy.'
It was such a blessing that I went to see her in March, when I knew that this horrible illness was beginning to ravage her, chipping away at her little by little. Nevertheless, Amy continued to remain hopeful, positive, and most of all loving to all those surrounding her. No matter what was going on in her life, she took the time to include whoever was besides her in her life, giving them her full and undivided attention, along with her message of hope and joy.
Tonight, I am feeling a little bit sad, knowing that Amy is gone, that we will not meet face to face again. I am crying for her, since I will not hear her voice, nor her laughter again, but all of her, each and every inch, will forever be engraved inside of my heart.
As always, when we parted, we said these words: I love you, cuzzy. . . .
Thank you for your minds.
As I lit a yartzite candle for her tonight, I thought about our lives together as cousins. Since she lived in Miami, and I lived in California, we did not see each other as children. We did, however, develop an instant connection over the telephone, and this built up into a wonderful and loving relationship during adulthood.
I can remember Amy coming to Los Angeles to live, and she stayed with me for a short time. We opened our hearts, minds and souls to one another, and we would laugh, cry, dream and chuckle whenever we were together. I can still see her in her pale yellow dress, as a bride's maid in my wedding so many years ago. She had the most intoxicating smile, it was contagious, and her positive attitude and loving heart were instruments of her being that she passed along to all who met her.
We shared so much in common, it was erie. Our mutual love for our dogs, our lipstick, our private jokes and excitement about living. We told each other our deepest, darkest secrets, no matter how horrible they might be, and not ever did she judge me nor I judge her. We were both just 'cuzzy.'
It was such a blessing that I went to see her in March, when I knew that this horrible illness was beginning to ravage her, chipping away at her little by little. Nevertheless, Amy continued to remain hopeful, positive, and most of all loving to all those surrounding her. No matter what was going on in her life, she took the time to include whoever was besides her in her life, giving them her full and undivided attention, along with her message of hope and joy.
Tonight, I am feeling a little bit sad, knowing that Amy is gone, that we will not meet face to face again. I am crying for her, since I will not hear her voice, nor her laughter again, but all of her, each and every inch, will forever be engraved inside of my heart.
As always, when we parted, we said these words: I love you, cuzzy. . . .
Thank you for your minds.
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