Every year after she ‘went beyond’ my brother and I did something to remember her when we could. Mostly together, sometimes separate as you can see, in many ways, it began right here. I’m certain they would agree.
My daughter, who she never met, has her name as her middle. I hope she likes it better than the one I received from my long-deceased uncle. He died when he was too young to understand, but I know my mother knew enough to be a fierce protector.
After she got her Ph.D. she taught here. I don’t think it lasted long. Her students adoringly called her Doc, while the very American catholic fathers called her Baruda. I think we can all understand why she left.
Nice memorial.