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Seven years in this world without you.   It’s funny how some days, a memory from days long gone comes back, so crystal clear that it feels like you never left.  And other times, especially when I see young guys your age,  I feel so outraged at the unfairness of it all.

This poem, by Emily Dickinson, captures so  eloquently, what all of us who knew you feel.   It is so true, we cherish more than ever, all the memories you left us with.  You were larger than life when you were with us.  Always in the thick of conversation, always in the middle of everything !   And for that, thank you.

Love always,

Kunji (Anu)

Death sets a thing significant – Emily Dickinson

Death sets a thing significant

The eye had hurried by,

Except a perished creature

Entreat us tenderly


To ponder little workmanships

In crayon or in wool,

With “This was last her fingers did,”

Industrious until


The thimble weighed too heavy,

The stitches stopped themselves,

And then ‘t was put among the dust

Upon the closet shelves.


A book I have, a friend gave,

Whose pencil, here and there,

Had notched the place that pleased him,–

At rest his fingers are.


Now, when I read, I read not,

For interrupting tears

Obliterate the etchings

Too costly for repairs.

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