Below are some words I wrote for Gwen's Memorial to be read aloud. I am holding you all in my heart during this sad transition: It is known that when we grieve the loss of our parent, we are grieving the loss of who they were to us, but also we grieve who they might have been, both for us and themselves. And we hold both of these important but sad realms concurrently. Gwen was my across-the-pond aunt (I live in California) who welcomed me into the fold, beginning at age 13, helping me in each of my successive visits, to come into the experience of belonging; and nothing is more viral for children than to feel that they belong. Years later when I was introducing my bride, Renee to my British and Irish family, we were again met by Gwen's generosity and open arms of welcome and kinship. Gwen I will miss you and your great love of the arts, how you knew a home remedy you called Barley Water that cured almost any ailment, including Renee's bout of travel tummy, and your marvelous love of language, (Gwen helped convert newly minted technical words to be shared from English to French, and published them in dictionaries, as part of her own language school). She also proved to focus that mastery of language into piercing words, as once while on holiday in France, we came upon some gypsies, where the man was attempting to drown a sack full of kittens. Gwen's technical words also covered the vernacular as the gypsy man quickly re-thought his euthanasia plans and immediately left the river. It was here I thought I too must learn to speak such French and have such persuasive command, I was most impressed. Thank you for all you gifted me, they are dear and treasured memories. Gwen, there is deep sorrow I carry, as I would have wished your life to have been much more and I hold hope that the next generation will find there way into healing and fulfillment. Love to my dearest, Gregory