ALESSANDRA’S MEMORIAL
June 18, 2010
June 18, 2010
This post was compiled by my mother Lisa, who wanted to share Alessandra's service with all whose lives she touched.
SETTING THE SCENE
For those of you who, in the far-flung corners of the globe, could not attend the Memorial Service for Alessandra, I will attempt to take you there, so that you have some closure. For you have all invested so much positive energy and love in Alexis’s blog and in your emails, letters and calls, sending wishes, hope, cheers, thoughts and comfort to Danda over the last year and a half. It is the very least one could do.
London perfect, a little drizzle falling from the sky, the service took place at St. James Catholic Church. It is an impressive edifice anchored to the corner of a narrow street and sitting cheek to jowl with the very English Durrants Hotel, one of the last hostelries owned by one family for generations.
A few small steps lead to the main entrance of the church, and once, accustomed to the dark, one’s eyes behold the soaring, vaulted space, the stained-glass windows and enough gilt to satisfy, but not cause sticker-shock. It is a user-friendly sanctuary with small chairs instead of pews. It was chosen to honor Alessandra, as it was where she was baptized and where Vicki and Marco were married many years ago. Full circle, if you will. Two huge vases of pale pink peonies graced the steps to the altar – their singular purity and beauty so fitting and reminiscent of Alessandra’s love of simplicity.
Father Christopher Cloven welcomed all, and speaking with a softness that forced us to listen carefully, he sought to convey what his church had to offer as solace. He sought to mitigate unspeakable grief and to ground us in the arms of God’s love. The simple eloquence of his words and prayers was easily embraced by the most fervent believer, and surely provoked thought from those who might waiver and question religion in their own lives.
There was no eulogy, but rather a summation of Alessandra’s place in the universe as evidenced through the tears and memories of family and friends – varied flowers from the bouquet of Danda’s life.
Courageous beyond my wildest imaginings, Vicki, forever Danda’s “Mummy”, rose to speak. Then Lisa Hilley, a Bristol University connection, who flew all the way from California to pay tribute to her best friend. Next, I muddled through, relying on a passage that had resonated with many people on past occasions. Then, Jessica, another Bristol University buddy who flew in from New York. Uncle Geoffrey, supremely capable and in control of his emotions, spoke off the cuff (a synopsis is attached). Then Giovanna, Alessandra’s youngest cousin from Italy, and finally, Chiara, the “little sister” spoke of her enduring love and undiminished connection to Danda even in death.
The musical selections were, quite frankly, glorious, in particular Faure’s Pie Jesu Domine sung by a soprano of exquisite voice and technique. This particular piece is so touching and so ethereal one wants it never to end.
Awash in tears, sprinkled with laughter, we “rose to the occasion”. Each in his or her own way, some drenching their pocket handkerchiefs, others biting their stiff upper lips, we honored Danda. Thence, (I think this a singularly British term), we repaired to the oak-lined bosom of Durrants for a libation. It followed that people who had never met each other became fast friends, shared stories, wept copiously, imbibed too much. Danda would surely have enjoyed the exercise, wine in hand, and nibbling on a piece of chocolate for a jolt.
There is a song in The Sound of Music sung by the nuns, in which they attempt to describe Maria, the young novice. They question “how do you catch a star and pin it down?” They further ask, “how do you hold a moonbeam in your hand?”
I submit that on the next moonlit night, you hold out your hand and envision Danda. There she will be – smiling. What to do? Smile back. LSC
With love, infinite love, LSC
For those of you who, in the far-flung corners of the globe, could not attend the Memorial Service for Alessandra, I will attempt to take you there, so that you have some closure. For you have all invested so much positive energy and love in Alexis’s blog and in your emails, letters and calls, sending wishes, hope, cheers, thoughts and comfort to Danda over the last year and a half. It is the very least one could do.
London perfect, a little drizzle falling from the sky, the service took place at St. James Catholic Church. It is an impressive edifice anchored to the corner of a narrow street and sitting cheek to jowl with the very English Durrants Hotel, one of the last hostelries owned by one family for generations.
A few small steps lead to the main entrance of the church, and once, accustomed to the dark, one’s eyes behold the soaring, vaulted space, the stained-glass windows and enough gilt to satisfy, but not cause sticker-shock. It is a user-friendly sanctuary with small chairs instead of pews. It was chosen to honor Alessandra, as it was where she was baptized and where Vicki and Marco were married many years ago. Full circle, if you will. Two huge vases of pale pink peonies graced the steps to the altar – their singular purity and beauty so fitting and reminiscent of Alessandra’s love of simplicity.
Father Christopher Cloven welcomed all, and speaking with a softness that forced us to listen carefully, he sought to convey what his church had to offer as solace. He sought to mitigate unspeakable grief and to ground us in the arms of God’s love. The simple eloquence of his words and prayers was easily embraced by the most fervent believer, and surely provoked thought from those who might waiver and question religion in their own lives.
There was no eulogy, but rather a summation of Alessandra’s place in the universe as evidenced through the tears and memories of family and friends – varied flowers from the bouquet of Danda’s life.
Courageous beyond my wildest imaginings, Vicki, forever Danda’s “Mummy”, rose to speak. Then Lisa Hilley, a Bristol University connection, who flew all the way from California to pay tribute to her best friend. Next, I muddled through, relying on a passage that had resonated with many people on past occasions. Then, Jessica, another Bristol University buddy who flew in from New York. Uncle Geoffrey, supremely capable and in control of his emotions, spoke off the cuff (a synopsis is attached). Then Giovanna, Alessandra’s youngest cousin from Italy, and finally, Chiara, the “little sister” spoke of her enduring love and undiminished connection to Danda even in death.
The musical selections were, quite frankly, glorious, in particular Faure’s Pie Jesu Domine sung by a soprano of exquisite voice and technique. This particular piece is so touching and so ethereal one wants it never to end.
Awash in tears, sprinkled with laughter, we “rose to the occasion”. Each in his or her own way, some drenching their pocket handkerchiefs, others biting their stiff upper lips, we honored Danda. Thence, (I think this a singularly British term), we repaired to the oak-lined bosom of Durrants for a libation. It followed that people who had never met each other became fast friends, shared stories, wept copiously, imbibed too much. Danda would surely have enjoyed the exercise, wine in hand, and nibbling on a piece of chocolate for a jolt.
There is a song in The Sound of Music sung by the nuns, in which they attempt to describe Maria, the young novice. They question “how do you catch a star and pin it down?” They further ask, “how do you hold a moonbeam in your hand?”
I submit that on the next moonlit night, you hold out your hand and envision Danda. There she will be – smiling. What to do? Smile back. LSC
With love, infinite love, LSC
WORDS SPOKEN AT THE MEMORIAL
****************
A MOTHER’S THOUGHTS FROM VICKI
If Alessandra had the courage to brave what she had to go through for a year and a half, I knew I had to find the courage to stand at this lectern. If I falter, then you’ll forgive me.
Seeing everyone here is certainly a testament to how Alessandra touched the lives of so many. There are friends and family here from as far away as California, the Caribbean, Boston, New York, Copenhagen, Geneva, Rome, and Madrid. I want to thank all of you who gave her such support.
Is there anything worse for a mother and father than losing their child? – it goes against the nature of things. The other day a friend of mine, who lost her mother as a little girl, said that when it happened, her grandmother told her “God just made a mistake. He should have taken me.”
And how hard it is for Julian to have lost his soulmate and mother of their child.
Alessandra and I shared a very special bond. We were always on the same wave length. There were few secrets between us. The silver lining of the last year and a half was that we could be together through the good days and the bad days, in laughter and in tears.
I have been blessed to have had such a beautiful daughter both inside and out and doubly blessed that I have another daughter, Chiara, equally as beautiful. A few days before dying Alessandra looked at her father and said: “Babbo, ascoltame. La tua figlia Chiara e eccessionale (Babbo, listen to me. I want to tell you that your daughter Chiara is exceptional.” Chiara and Alessandra also shared a very special bond, a bond that not all siblings experience, and it gives me comfort knowing how they fought the battle together.
Last month we were all in the Caribbean to attend the wedding of her cousin Alexis. Alessandra was determined to get there and she did. We spent some glorious days sailing on the boat her cousin Chris named after her: The Alessandra.
I would like to read a poem that many of you may know.
I am standing upon the seashore
“A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength, and I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come down to mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says: ‘There! She’s gone.’ Gone where? Gone from my sight – that is all. She is just as large in mast and spar as she was when she left my side; and just as able to bear her load of living freight to the place of destination. Her diminished size is in me, not in her; and just at the moment when someone at my side says: ‘There! She’s gone,’ there are other eyes watching her coming and other voices ready to take up the glad shout: ‘There! She comes!’
And that is how I like to think of Alessandra – sailing off on a long voyage.
A MOTHER’S THOUGHTS FROM VICKI
If Alessandra had the courage to brave what she had to go through for a year and a half, I knew I had to find the courage to stand at this lectern. If I falter, then you’ll forgive me.
Seeing everyone here is certainly a testament to how Alessandra touched the lives of so many. There are friends and family here from as far away as California, the Caribbean, Boston, New York, Copenhagen, Geneva, Rome, and Madrid. I want to thank all of you who gave her such support.
Is there anything worse for a mother and father than losing their child? – it goes against the nature of things. The other day a friend of mine, who lost her mother as a little girl, said that when it happened, her grandmother told her “God just made a mistake. He should have taken me.”
And how hard it is for Julian to have lost his soulmate and mother of their child.
Alessandra and I shared a very special bond. We were always on the same wave length. There were few secrets between us. The silver lining of the last year and a half was that we could be together through the good days and the bad days, in laughter and in tears.
I have been blessed to have had such a beautiful daughter both inside and out and doubly blessed that I have another daughter, Chiara, equally as beautiful. A few days before dying Alessandra looked at her father and said: “Babbo, ascoltame. La tua figlia Chiara e eccessionale (Babbo, listen to me. I want to tell you that your daughter Chiara is exceptional.” Chiara and Alessandra also shared a very special bond, a bond that not all siblings experience, and it gives me comfort knowing how they fought the battle together.
Last month we were all in the Caribbean to attend the wedding of her cousin Alexis. Alessandra was determined to get there and she did. We spent some glorious days sailing on the boat her cousin Chris named after her: The Alessandra.
I would like to read a poem that many of you may know.
I am standing upon the seashore
“A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength, and I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come down to mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says: ‘There! She’s gone.’ Gone where? Gone from my sight – that is all. She is just as large in mast and spar as she was when she left my side; and just as able to bear her load of living freight to the place of destination. Her diminished size is in me, not in her; and just at the moment when someone at my side says: ‘There! She’s gone,’ there are other eyes watching her coming and other voices ready to take up the glad shout: ‘There! She comes!’
And that is how I like to think of Alessandra – sailing off on a long voyage.
****************
WORDS FROM LISA HILLEY
Thoughts About Alex
I have known Alex for 18 years. That is just short of half my life. One of my favourite quotes is that “Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some stay for awhile and leave footprints on our hearts”. That was Alex. We lived together for two years, and another sixteen were spent hundreds if not thousands of miles apart. It did not seem to matter; she remained a constant support and friend. I feel honoured to share a little bit about my friendship with Alex tonight.
We met in 1992 on her first day of her 2nd year at University, in Bristol. Alex happened to be my next-door neighbour in Clifton Hill House, one of the student dorms. During the first week, most students were excitedly running about meeting new people, finding local pubs, making plans, not Alex. She was busy unpacking her study notes, organizing her room and preparing for classes the next week. I arrived in Bristol and felt like a fish out of water – having grown up only in the SF Bay Area, driving around in a lime-green lime VW bus with my Birkenstocks and casual t-shirts. Alex was standing there in the dormitory kitchen in her ironed buttoned up shirt and long skirt – she had a much better sense of fashion, spoke multiple languages, and had lived all over the world. She quickly introduced herself and made me a cup of tea. We immediately found common ground on the study of psychology, our love of family, sisterhood, and of course cheese, bread, and chocolate. And so that is where it began for me, in the kitchen of Clifton Hill House. I am now convinced that all good things happen over a cup of tea.
Alex was serious and intense about her studies. She was driven and focused and excelled on every paper, project, and exam. I was living with Alex during her 3rd year project, which she chose to do on stuttering. She did not do anything halfway and wanted desperately to understand what makes people stutter. Perhaps motivated by her own experience as a little girl, but she also had an unusual curiosity about things and the discipline to give 150%. So, Alex set up an entire laboratory in her bedroom and recruited human research participants. Although I admired her persistence and passion, living with Alex during this time was nuts. She made me test out her machine with recorded voices using these enormous earphones so many times; I thought I would develop my own stutter. Alex had a very unique way of studying – that is, she would pace around her room and hum very loudly. I could hear her all the way in the basement and it always made me smile. Alex was smart, dedicated, and committed to whatever she took on. In short, Alex was brilliant. I was so proud of her when she obtained some of the highest marks for any student at the University of Bristol.
As you all know, there were other sides to Alex. She was humble, warm, thoughtful, loyal and fun. We shared some late nights out, movies, weekends away, crazy roommate stories, but mostly we talked and laughed over cups of tea. We often went ice-skating on Wednesday afternoons and she made me dinner more evenings than not. I can still smell the homemade pasta sauce and chocolate cakes. Alex was generous and kind – she put people first and always gave more than she was willing to take. At the end of our 2nd year together, we had been studying for weeks for exams. My room was a disaster with the usual clothes, coffee mugs, papers and books covering the floor. When I came back from my last exam there was a sign on the door that said “Congratulations, You Did It”. When I went inside, Alex had cleaned up every last piece of paper, vacuumed up all the crumbs, folded the clothes and left an amazing cake on my desk. The thing is, it was Alex’s last exam too.
We made a pact to stay in touch after Bristol. So when we both ended up on the East Coast for graduate school, she visited me in Baltimore, Miami, and Cincinnati. I made the trek to Boston as much as graduate school finances would allow. We met up in Philadelphia and New York City to be with our dear friend Jess. Those were great visits. We shared the challenges of graduate school and finding our way in life. She found her place in the field of psychology conducting neuropsychological evaluations with children. I have no doubt she was able to impact the children and families with whom she worked.
Alex and Julian were finally married and returned to London. There had been a significant period of silence, life was busy and chaotic, Alex was pregnant and in the process of setting up her Evaluation Centre, which was taking off like crazy. She was so proud that all the hard work was resulting in something so significant. So, when I got the call near Christmas time, I expected to catch up on the trials and tribulations of starting your own business, juggling kids and work, and the usual updates about family. I did not anticipate the news of a diagnosis. She told me very sternly that day “Lisa, I know that you will start reading and asking questions, but I do not want to know the statistics, I do not want you to say anything about the odds, I just want to live”. And so she did.
I think it was her aunt who quoted Thomas Carlyle on the blog saying “Permanence, perseverance and persistence in spite of all obstacles, discouragements, and impossibilities: It is this, that in all things distinguishes the strong soul from the weak”. Alex demonstrated the strongest of souls. She lived fully and she lived well. I always loved the poster that hung on her bedroom wall for years: “Live Gently and With Fire”. Perhaps that describes Alex best. Her humility and gentleness combined with her talent, drive, and determination made her the best of the best.
Over the past few weeks, I have been reliving those thousand cups of tea, the long chats. What she talked about most was her family and friends. She had an amazing respect for and appreciation of family. She so deeply loved her parents; her Italian and American roots were such a part of her identity. She talked often of her grandmothers with respect and awe, trips to the Caribbean and Maine where she felt so at home, her visits with her Uncle Geoffrey to California. I was always struck by the strong connection she had with her mother. I would be very fortunate if my daughters talk about me with even half the affection she talked about Vicki.
She always lit up when she talked about Chiara. I remember the first time I met Chiara, I think she was about sixteen and came during a school break. Alex took very seriously her role as big sister – she referred to Chiara as “Pickle Head” he entire week, made sure she studied, ate well and got plenty of sleep. I remember giving Alex a hard time and saying – you know she is sixteen, but Alex was a caretaker at heart. I was waiting for this big rebellion or fight, but the two seemed to have a way of being together and interacting that just worked. Over time, Alex would describe Chiara as her most solid supporter and friend. Chiara became the person she turned to in moments of doubt, fear, and anxiety. Chiara was honest and direct and could ease Alex’s worries within seconds. During my last visit with Alex, she told me that Chiara could get her to do the things she did not think she could do. I witnessed firsthand that Chiara’s very presence gave Alex courage, strength and confidence to maintain hope and live in the moment.
Alex sure talked about Julian. What a journey and what a love story. Julian made her laugh and step out of her shell. She repeatedly told me the story of an evening back in Bristol when Julian took her to the movies. Nobody else happened to be in the theatre and he got up on the stage and danced. Alex loved Julian and she loved him how he loved her. It was obvious in her words and in her actions and her commitment to their relationship. Alex struggled over the years to figure out where she most belonged, where she would call home. During a conversation just before she got married, she was clear that her home would be wherever Julian was. And so it was.
I was standing in my kitchen the other night and on my refrigerator is a definition of Faith. It says “Faith is to breath the flower in every seed, to see a star in every drop of dew, and to await the promise of a rainbow despite the cloud”. I have struggled to find the rainbow in all of this? But I think the rainbow is in her family and friends – who will live better and be better because of Alex. The rainbow is in the children and families she helped – especially those parents who will have a more hopeful perspective of their own children. Perhaps the rainbow is most in James – who is part of Alex. Alex often wrote and spoke about the unexplainable, amazing, and deep love she felt for James. I am confident that she will be his guardian angel throughout his life.
I am grateful that the stars aligned for me – that I happened to arrive in a place 6000 miles away at the very time Alex was standing there in the kitchen of Clifton Hill House just as the kettle was brewing. Timing is everything. In closing, and to Alex – I will think of you whenever I drive by a country house – the kind you always dreamed about. I will think of you when I ice skate and get the giggles so hard I cannot stop. I will think of you every time I have a cup of tea. Thank you for being one of those friends who come into my life and leave footprints on my heart.
****************
RELFECTIONS FROM AUNT LISA
RELFECTIONS FROM AUNT LISA
Good evening –
I am Alessandra’s aunt, and I represent her American cousins from “across the pond”, as well as my late husband whose love and admiration for Alessandra knew no bounds. In fact, he and Danda are probably looking down on these proceedings, switching channels between this and the World Cup.
Alessandra was an amazing edition of humanity – elegant of line, keen of intellect, brimming with purpose, commitment, courage and abundant love – an ideal package, beautifully wrapped and tied with the ribbons of God’s Grace.
Ethicist, Michael Joseph has penned the following which, I think, offers pause for thought and sums up the very essence of Alessandra.
“Ready or not, some day it will all come to an end. There will be no more sunrises, no minutes, hours or days. All the things you collected, whether treasured or forgotten, will pass to someone else. Your wealth, fame and temporal power will shrivel to irrelevance. It will not matter what you owned or what you were owed. Your grudges, resentments, frustrations and jealousies will finally disappear. So too, your hopes, ambitions, plans and to-do lists will expire. The wins and losses that once seemed so important will fade away. It won’t matter where you came from or what side of the tracks you lived on in the end. It won’t matter whether you were beautiful or brilliant. Even your gender and skin color will be irrelevant.
So what will matter? How will the value of your days be measured? What will matter is not what you bought, but what you built; not what you got, but what you gave. What will matter is not your success but your significance. What will matter is not what you learned, but what you taught. What will matter is every act of integrity, compassion, courage, or sacrifice that enriched, empowered or encouraged others to emulate your example. What will matter is not your competence but your character. What will matter is not how many people you knew, but how many will feel a lasting loss when you are gone. What will matter is not your memories, but the memories that live in those who loved you. What will matter is how long you will be remembered, by whom and for what. Living a life that matters doesn’t happen by accident. It is not a matter of circumstance, but of choice. Choose to live a life that matters.”
Suffice to say, Alessandra did just that, and did it to perfection.
I am Alessandra’s aunt, and I represent her American cousins from “across the pond”, as well as my late husband whose love and admiration for Alessandra knew no bounds. In fact, he and Danda are probably looking down on these proceedings, switching channels between this and the World Cup.
Alessandra was an amazing edition of humanity – elegant of line, keen of intellect, brimming with purpose, commitment, courage and abundant love – an ideal package, beautifully wrapped and tied with the ribbons of God’s Grace.
Ethicist, Michael Joseph has penned the following which, I think, offers pause for thought and sums up the very essence of Alessandra.
“Ready or not, some day it will all come to an end. There will be no more sunrises, no minutes, hours or days. All the things you collected, whether treasured or forgotten, will pass to someone else. Your wealth, fame and temporal power will shrivel to irrelevance. It will not matter what you owned or what you were owed. Your grudges, resentments, frustrations and jealousies will finally disappear. So too, your hopes, ambitions, plans and to-do lists will expire. The wins and losses that once seemed so important will fade away. It won’t matter where you came from or what side of the tracks you lived on in the end. It won’t matter whether you were beautiful or brilliant. Even your gender and skin color will be irrelevant.
So what will matter? How will the value of your days be measured? What will matter is not what you bought, but what you built; not what you got, but what you gave. What will matter is not your success but your significance. What will matter is not what you learned, but what you taught. What will matter is every act of integrity, compassion, courage, or sacrifice that enriched, empowered or encouraged others to emulate your example. What will matter is not your competence but your character. What will matter is not how many people you knew, but how many will feel a lasting loss when you are gone. What will matter is not your memories, but the memories that live in those who loved you. What will matter is how long you will be remembered, by whom and for what. Living a life that matters doesn’t happen by accident. It is not a matter of circumstance, but of choice. Choose to live a life that matters.”
Suffice to say, Alessandra did just that, and did it to perfection.
****************
MEMORIES FROM JESSICA PEREZ
Hello, I’m Jessica and I have also known Alex for 18 years. Lisa Hilley introduced us. I would like to share a short anecdote, which I believe highlights a side of Alex not seen by many.Alex and I had just seen The Saint and we both fell in love with Val Kilmer. (I’m sorry Julian, before you there was Val Kilmer and before Val there was Ralph Fiennes, but we all know she made the best choice in the end.) One of my favorite possessions is a binder Alex sent to me describing her whirlwind romance with Val. It was detailed and full of tabloid jargon and here are some of my favorite quotes from it:
“We met at the Children’s Hospital in London where I was working as an intern.”
“Realizing the time, I began to make the extra bed, but it got stuck under the railing of my twin size set-up…”
“Val and I grew close to Tom Cruise and his wife Nicole, but sadly we no longer see them because of a much publicized quarrel between the two men.”
“My move to New Mexico remains a distinct possibility…” Alex was creative, had a wonderful imagination and a great sense of humor. These on top of all of her other attributes made her an amazing and inspiring person and one of the greatest friends I will ever have.
****************
WARM THOUGHTS FROM UNCLE GEOFFREY
When Danda moved to Boston, her aunt and I bought her a little second-hand car so
she would have some mobility and it would allow her to get out of Boston and up to Maine. When I delivered the car to her, I did think to ask her if she knew how to drive. “Well, of course I do” was her reply. Nevertheless, it seemed prudent to go for a test drive before handing it over, so off we went. She was cautious, to say the least. Hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel, we stopped 20 feet short of every stop sign and when making a right hand turn we certainly occupied the left hand lane for longer than we should have. But after about 45 minutes I felt that she was solid enough to get around the local streets. At that point, I suggested that we get out on the highway. Well, the hands gripped the wheel even tighter and she
was sweating bullets. Once on the road, she asked how she was doing. I told her that I was not concerned about her hitting anything but was more concerned that a truck would end up in the back seat unless she sped up. I then remembered that as a child, Alessandra hated going fast in a car. But, by sheer will power she increased the speed and I felt she would be a safe driver, certainly not a reckless one.
The next time I drove with her, it was I holding on for dear life and suggesting that she slow down. She had become a speed demon!
That was the way Alessandra approached life. She had to study the situation, process it, weigh all the factors, and then proceed, knowing full well that she had looked at all sides of the issue at hand. Once committed, she threw herself totally into what she chose to love and honor and that is no more obvious than in her love for Julian and for James and for her family. Her honesty and passion for life, once she accepted it, could be seen in that smile, that wonderful, beautiful smile, which is what I will always see in my mind....that beautiful face with that beautiful smile......
****************
WORDS FROM COUSIN GIOVANNA
I grew up with Alessandra—not literally, because we lived in different countries, but our two families used to spend summers in Sardinia or Christmases in Rome or Madrid together. Alessandra was always happy to be with all of us, and she always seemed to be at ease with so many people around.
The thing that always impressed me about Alessandra was her positive attitude toward life. I remember that once—we were maybe 14 or 15—when we met for a Christmas, she was reading a novel that she had been assigned in school. She hated it because the author had a bleak and depressing view of life. She told me instead that her philosophy was that life was to be lived to the full. “People should get out of their shell and grab the good that comes their way,” she said, “instead of whine about all the negative things that can and do happen!”.
Alessandra always maintained her positive attitude throughout her life, even during her last year. We all read her posts on the blog, and we saw how she always focused on the silver linings of what was happening to her, how she liked to end her posts on a positive note, or add a line or a photo that would make all of us, and herself, smile. Her determined optimism, her eagerness to live life fully, and her ability to find the positive in all situations are traits that, at least in my eyes, defined her character the best. If there is one thing I learned from Alessandra is that one should always try and keep looking for the positive in life, and I cherish this lesson.
****************
AND EVER-SO-LOVINGLY FROM CHIARA
This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to write, and for a moment I contemplated not speaking today, because how could I explain what Danda meant to me. How could I possibly convey the history, all the memories, moments, conversations, the smallest details – all these little pieces – that made my sister who she was, and made our bond such a close one.
I can pick a tiny fraction of these pieces:
The way she’d call me just to say
Goodnight
The way, even as two grown women, she’d still reach for my hand, in that protective big sister way, when we’d cross a busy road
The way we’d shoot each other a look in that knowing manner that said “I’m thinking exactly what you’re thinking.”
The way she comforted me when I needed to be comforted
Helped me when I couldn’t do it on my own
Talked me through things when my mind was confused
Championed me when I needed a boost
No matter how I was feeling, she would make everything ok.
I watch little James hold his comfort blanket, and I realise now that Danda was mine.
To feel that kind of closeness – where you know you can tell each other everything – truly anything – to feel that loved, to feel so protected and at the same time respected…that is truly something.
I recognize that I am so lucky to have had this bond for 32 years. But I wanted her for at least 32 years more. I used to worry about how short life was – always thinking about what I should be doing, seeing, achieving, as time seemed to rush by.
Now, without my sister, my life seems so very, very long. So I won’t pretend that I don’t feel an unfathomable loss.
But within this, there is, without a doubt, a sense of overwhelming pride – even more so now, knowing what an impact she made on so many others too – that this incredible person was my sister.
She will always be my Danda
And I will always be her Picklehead.
I know that I’ll still look for her hand when I cross the road
And I’ll ask her to listen when I need her most
I will say Goodnight to her at night, every night
I’ve always thought music can capture such depth and breathe of emotion – it can comfort, motivate, inspire. So I will say this - that Danda is my music, and for as long as I live, I know it will accompany me – lifting me up, driving me forward, making me sing.
AND EVER-SO-LOVINGLY FROM CHIARA
This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to write, and for a moment I contemplated not speaking today, because how could I explain what Danda meant to me. How could I possibly convey the history, all the memories, moments, conversations, the smallest details – all these little pieces – that made my sister who she was, and made our bond such a close one.
I can pick a tiny fraction of these pieces:
The way she’d call me just to say
Goodnight
The way, even as two grown women, she’d still reach for my hand, in that protective big sister way, when we’d cross a busy road
The way we’d shoot each other a look in that knowing manner that said “I’m thinking exactly what you’re thinking.”
The way she comforted me when I needed to be comforted
Helped me when I couldn’t do it on my own
Talked me through things when my mind was confused
Championed me when I needed a boost
No matter how I was feeling, she would make everything ok.
I watch little James hold his comfort blanket, and I realise now that Danda was mine.
To feel that kind of closeness – where you know you can tell each other everything – truly anything – to feel that loved, to feel so protected and at the same time respected…that is truly something.
I recognize that I am so lucky to have had this bond for 32 years. But I wanted her for at least 32 years more. I used to worry about how short life was – always thinking about what I should be doing, seeing, achieving, as time seemed to rush by.
Now, without my sister, my life seems so very, very long. So I won’t pretend that I don’t feel an unfathomable loss.
But within this, there is, without a doubt, a sense of overwhelming pride – even more so now, knowing what an impact she made on so many others too – that this incredible person was my sister.
She will always be my Danda
And I will always be her Picklehead.
I know that I’ll still look for her hand when I cross the road
And I’ll ask her to listen when I need her most
I will say Goodnight to her at night, every night
I’ve always thought music can capture such depth and breathe of emotion – it can comfort, motivate, inspire. So I will say this - that Danda is my music, and for as long as I live, I know it will accompany me – lifting me up, driving me forward, making me sing.
