IN LOVING MEMORY
14 April 1989 – 4 April 2020
“Forgive these wild and wandering cries, Confusions of a wasted youth; Forgive them where they fail in truth, And in thy wisdom make me wise.”
Brief vir Missie: A letter from a grieving mother to her daughter.
“Never Enough” (from The Greatest Showman) © Karl Loxley
Once Upon a Time
Once upon a time, there was a girl. She had a mom and a dad and sisters. Once upon a time. That is all we get. Time is not infinite. We tell time, we get time, and we lose time. Sometimes we can even save time, but we never know time. Once upon a time, that girl lived. She played, she laughed, she loved and she was loved. Once upon a time. Then she died. Time for her ended. She was working, she was forging plans, she was alive and then time stopped.
Now all her family has left of her is all wrapped into one phrase, once upon a time. Memories, regret, trinkets from days gone by, it is now once upon a time. Her red shoes and her matching bag, her outrageous laugh, her fiery temper, and her even fiercer loyalty was once upon a time. She was bullied, abused, hi-jacked and she was raped once upon a time. She fought, she froze, she overcame and she conquered once upon a time.
Sometimes she would win and sometime she would lose once upon a time. She would drink to forget or sketch magnificent drawings to remember once upon a time. She was a daughter, a fiancée, a friend, and my little sister, once upon a time.
Marisa was born on a Friday. Died on a Saturday, 10 days shy of her 31st birthday. That was the length of time we had with our darling Marisa, or Missie as we would affectionately call her.
She was everything that you would expect a Missy to be. She did not disappoint. People would often misspell her name as Marissa and she would always get so upset. “My name is not Marisisisisisisisa” she would scold, her perfectly straightened blond hair shaking along with her exaggerated motions. I would just laugh at her. Not because her frustrations were anything to laugh at, but because her wonderful way of expressing her annoyance was so refreshing and so liberating.
She would never stay angry for long anyway. Somewhere in the enormity of her explosion, like a Mount Vesuvius of curse words, there was an underground fountain of forgiveness that would cool the lava. I felt safe when I was with her. My loyal, fearless defender. My sister.
Extract from Ugly Cry and Do the Dishes by HoboLiz
Tribute poetry to Missie
- Death Be Not Proud
- For Missie
- Write about you
- Pieces of Peace
- Ode To A Tragedy
- Mom and I cried
- Cut in half
- I am
- Finding the light
- Oh sister
- Remember our love
- Saying Goodbye
- What I hope you’d say