A few days after Elizabeth died, I was given a mass card/booklet. Flipping through its pages in the middle of the night, hoping to find some comfort, I opened it to a page containing this poem by an unknown author:

I’m Free

Don’t grieve for me, for now I’m free.

I’m following the path God laid for me.

I took God’s hand when I heard the call;

I turned my back and left it all.

I could not stay another day

To laugh, to love, to work or play.

Tasks left undone must stay that way,

I found that place at the close of the day.

If my parting has left a void,

Then fill it with remembered joy.

A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss.

Ah yes, these things, I too, will miss.

Be not burdened with times of sorrow,

I wish you the sunshine of tomorrow.

My life’s been full, I savored much,

Good friends, good times, a loved one’s touch.

Perhaps my time seemed all too brief;

don’t lengthen it with undue grief.

Lift your heart and share with me—

God wanted me now, God set me free.

                I held the paper and cried. I truly believed Elizabeth was letting me know how grateful she was to be free.  

Elizabeth’s gravestone red and in the shape of a heart. It will bear sketches of a rose, dove and butterfly. The following verses will be placed on the back of her stone: “I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever” (Psalm 23:6) “Then the lame man will leap like a deer, and the tongue of the mute will sing” (Isaiah 35:6)

My father, knowing how much reading relieves some of my grief, wanted to write something too. He sat down with pen and paper and starting laboring over a fairy tale (something he has never done before). He wasn’t satisfied with the way it was coming out so he decided to start over. Suddenly he felt as though a spirit came over him and out of his pen came a story that arrested my soul.

THE WOODCUTTER’S TALE

by Richard W. Avazian

Illustrated by Marianne Greiner

Once upon a time long, long ago in a far-away land lived Patrius, a woodcutter, and his wife Matilda.  They had a 19-year-old daughter, Filia and a ten-year-old son Stefan.

            It came to pass that the countryside was ravaged by sickness accompanied by high fever that caused many to perish.  Stefan was stricken and shortly became very ill.  The woodcutter summoned the old midwife, a gray-haired woman who also served as a doctor.  “Patrius, Matilda, I am sorry to tell you that Stefan is beyond my help and must soon die.”

            Struck speechless by this pronouncement, they heard the neighing and hoof beats of horses outside their cottage.  Patrius went out to discover that the Princess in her royal coach had stopped.  “I was returning to my castle when I heard your son was sick.  Bring me to him.”  Patrius led the Princess inside and she beheld the dying Stefan.  “Let me take him home with me and I will heal him.  However, I will keep him with me as I have no sons after four years of marriage.”  Although it broke their hearts, Patrius and Matilda agreed for they knew it was best for Stefan.

            The Princess herself picked Stefan up to carry him to the carriage.  As soon as the Princess lifted him, Stefan started to look better.  The Princess placed him in the coach seat opposite her and the coach drove off, leaving the couple waving goodbye with tear-stained faces.

            Life was not the same in the little cottage, although the family seemed closer together then ever before. Their shared grief was an invisible weight pressing upon their shoulders, made bearable only by the sharing.

            Three days after Stefan’s departure, a white dove appeared and made a nest in their thatched roof.  Strangely, the family felt comforted by the presence of the dove that never left their roof.  Patrius always looked for it when he returned from his wood-cutting forays into the forest.  Matilda and Filia often looked up when they were doing their outdoor chores to see if the dove was still there and to experience the sense of consolation and protection, which seemed to emanate from the dove.

            After a few years, Filia married a cooper and moved to a village about ten miles distant. 

            Though they missed their daughter greatly, the couple now had the dove for company. 

            Finally, stricken with years, the old couple became weaker and weaker and sensed that they both were going to die.  Patrius said, “Let us go outside, bring our bench and sit on it, hold hands and look at our dove.”  Matilda agreed and they brought their bench outside.  They settled themselves on the bench and faced their cottage, but were surprised to see that the dove was no longer on the roof.  Finally growing too feeble to move, they heard the sound of horses’ hooves. 

            With their last breaths, they beheld the royal coach approaching.  As the coach drew near, they saw a smiling Stefan inside, dressed in shining white garments and looking every inch a Prince.  “Come home with me,” said Stefan.  Overjoyed and amazed that they suddenly no longer felt feeble, the couple stepped into the coach.  As the coach started to pull away, Patrius and Matilda looked back to see if their dove had returned.  But the dove, no longer being needed, was gone. 

            This disappointment was replaced by their boundless joy at seeing how happy Stefan had been and by knowing they would be with Stefan forever in their new home.

P.S.S. Many mornings from our picture window I see a dove resting upon our front yard.

To see the story with illustrations, open Woodcutter with sketches final version.doc

Links with Elizabeth's story: Mommage: Elizabeth's Story... Awareness and Prevention of CMV   http://www.cureepilepsy.org/psas/elizabeths_story.asp

The following was writen by her family for her funeral:

Elizabeth had the soul of an angel and the spirit of a true adventurer.  To sit with her in your lap and look into her beautiful blue eyes was to experience the tranquility of total innocence and acceptance. 

But then to see her complete enjoyment when she was pushed quickly over bumpy sidewalks in her stroller, or was watching an action movie from her favorite vantage point in the very first row of the movie theater? now there was a girl who seemed up for anything.

It's that trait that allowed me to imagine the "secret life of Elizabeth."  I mean, I think that she could have been hired as an action/adventure movie critic.  If there was plenty of motion, loud sound, and special effects, you would know it was a great movie because Elizabeth certainly squealed with delight.  And if a director slowed the movie down with a contrived romance she would let you know about it by yowling in discontent.  But what's with her enjoyment of the final credits?  That has me stumped.  Lisa says that sometimes Lizzie showed more interest and got more pleasure from watching all the names scroll by quickly on the screen than she did from the movie itself.  I wonder if she knew what a "best boy," or "key grip" is, 'cause I'd love to know... 

And my husband George, he discovered something many people had overlooked.  He realized one day that Elizabeth was probably quite the expert on ceiling fans.  She could often be found lying comfortably on a blanket on the floor, enjoying the breeze.  On occasion, George and Elizabeth would sit together, for quite a while I might add, with both their heads going?  and they would be talking, and talking, and talking, about the fan of the moment, (actually George did most of the talking but that was OK by Elizabeth.  She was a great listener.)  He and I both think that Miss Lizzie wanted to take after her Mom and write a book about their studies one day.

Well anyway, all kidding aside, I?m really glad that I got to know Elizabeth.  She was a brave young woman, who accepted who she was and fought to experience every moment she had here with us.  Even though I know she will be sorely missed, I can?t mourn her passing because I know she is just beginning a new journey in the hands of God.  And I hope that we can all take a cue from Miss Lizzie and find the strength to celebrate her life and enjoy how her presence enriched our own.