My father was 88 when he passed away on July 4th. He lived a full life and was making photos and paper sculptures right up until his last days. Over the last five months I walk through his loft as if I am running both hands down the walls hoping that by touching the exposed bricks I can absorb the love and inspiration upon which his life was built. I have packed up all the pots left there that I made during my elementary, high school and college years as well as the other pots I gave my parents over the years to use. As I wrap each piece I remember what I hoped for when I made it and I am reminded of the specific ideas I revisit over and over again, trying to get closer to the heart of an aesthetic itch.
"The very least you can do in your life is figure out what you hope for. The most you can do is live inside that hope, running down its hallways, touching the walls on both sides."
Barbara Kingsolver, from Animal Dreams
"The very least you can do in your life is figure out what you hope for. The most you can do is live inside that hope, running down its hallways, touching the walls on both sides."
Barbara Kingsolver, from Animal Dreams 
Hi Catherine,
In 1985 I wrote a poem in memory of my sister, Betty, who was 26 when she passed. I'll share it with you:
Lost Friend
In this moment of sorrow
Within a feeling of loss
A soul remains eternal
A memory owned by all.
A smile and generous thoughtfulness
A search is finally found
A light within each one of us
Is left in silent abound.
A trust that never ended
An ending that goes beyond
A journey just beginning
A friend is lost with on.
Tomorrow takes us together
While yesterday left us there
Today we come together
And share this moment's prayer.
To each of us a loved one
To each of us a friend
Forever is forever
She (he) knows it in the end.