|
|
Browse People by name
Browse family names using the A to Z index below.
A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W XYZ ALL NAMES
W.
WRIGHT-SMITH, MARJORIE
A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W XYZ ALL NAMES
W.
WRIGHT-SMITH, MARJORIE
TIMELINE
AUDIO RECORDINGS
|
PHOTOGRAPHS
VIDEOS
YOUR STORIES
"If I should weep in the reading of these words..." A eulogy for Aunt Marjorie by Kevin A. Browne.
I am called upon to do an impossible thing.
I am called to do what I cannot do.
I am called upon to tell a truth I cannot adequately tell.
To make with words what words cannot make.
Spasms. There are spasms. The heart shakes.
And if I should weep in the reading of these words, you will have to excuse me. I am in pain, Marjorie is dead, the shock of her absence is fresh (when, just a month ago, she told me stories at the table, I at her and my mother’s feet, as they told me about myself), and we (our family, named and unnamed) grieve openly, as we must.
Our hearts, because we are alive and human, are open wounds. They break and mend themselves—piece by jagged piece—for everyone to see. It is for them I speak.
I speak, also, and perhaps a bit more urgently, for Marjorie, who feels no pain—except, of course, for my inadequacies as I try to honor her now. She will laugh at my pretensions—knowingly, honestly.
It is a privilege that sticks in the back of the throat, makes the nose burn, and sets the pulse racing.
(Download the file below to read the full eulogy.)
"If I should weep in the reading of these words..." A eulogy for Aunt Marjorie by Kevin A. Browne.
I am called upon to do an impossible thing.
I am called to do what I cannot do.
I am called upon to tell a truth I cannot adequately tell.
To make with words what words cannot make.
Spasms. There are spasms. The heart shakes.
And if I should weep in the reading of these words, you will have to excuse me. I am in pain, Marjorie is dead, the shock of her absence is fresh (when, just a month ago, she told me stories at the table, I at her and my mother’s feet, as they told me about myself), and we (our family, named and unnamed) grieve openly, as we must.
Our hearts, because we are alive and human, are open wounds. They break and mend themselves—piece by jagged piece—for everyone to see. It is for them I speak.
I speak, also, and perhaps a bit more urgently, for Marjorie, who feels no pain—except, of course, for my inadequacies as I try to honor her now. She will laugh at my pretensions—knowingly, honestly.
It is a privilege that sticks in the back of the throat, makes the nose burn, and sets the pulse racing.
(Download the file below to read the full eulogy.)
ifishouldweepinthereadingofthesewords.docx.pdf |