Elizabeth’s family misses her. That’s why her grave is decorated with pin wheels and colorful streamers. That is why her still living husband has the plot next to hers with a tombstone with his name and no Death date. That is why more than a decade after her passing she still has flowers decorating her grave. That is why when I sat on her grave, I felt the urge to apologize for invading her space, even though she was four feet below me. I would like to think that her kids and husband still think of her when they eat her favorite desert or hear her favorite song on the radio. And that when they come to this grassy patch, and hear the cows in the background, they can feel comfort knowing that it is these nuances that make us human, not our BMI and hair color. So even if she didn’t have a foundation named after her and she didn’t save someone from a burning building, she was significant. She made an impact on her family, who carry on her legacy. She is made immortal through those who loved her subtleties and shortcomings while she was here. Elizabeth shows us that you don’t have to be spectacular to be remembered. That whatever happens when we’re gone, we didn’t waste space while we were here.
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