Dear Hearts,
Our beloved friend and sister, Liz Aleshire, passed away this morning at 12:12 a.m. after a long, hard fight against insurmountable odds. Her struggle is over. When Death arrived, it came as a gentle friend, ending all pain, suffering, and sorrow.
I know you will join me in offering condolences to Liz's friends and family, and in remembering what a wonderful woman and friend Liz has been to us all. Please use this space to add your voices and express your feelings.
Liz was always generous with us, and now it's our turn to show appreciation for the life she shared with us.
Marsha
Monday, October 13, 2008
Liz Aleshire - In Memoriam
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"Luv ya!" That's how Liz and I always said good-bye. For years, we said the words in that cheeky, wink-wink way that also said no need to get sentimental. But from my first visit to her in May, when she was tethered to ICU lifelines coming from all directions, "luv ya" became "Love you." In July, emergency open-heart surgery forever connected her fragile heart to a machine. Its steady tick-tock filled the room and the shorthand of "love you" expanded to what I meant all those years. "I love you, Liz, my good, good friend. I love you." Zita
I didn't get to know Liz all that well until she started to work as a crew member on Zita's two cable TV shows. I am also a crew member.
It became very clear to me that she and my wife were great friends and adored each other.
The way they worked together, and loved doing so, showed in the programs they created.
Liz, thanks for being a great friend of Zita's.
I already miss you.
Dick Christian
My first memory of Liz is now 15 years old from her class at the IWWG conference. She demonstrated what "started to run" (or started to do whatever) looked like--visualize a person leaning, frozen with a bent knee and one foot off the floor--totally awkward. She always taught great writing lessons. I loved her laughter, her ability to find humor in the grimmest situations, her glee in helping me eat a carton of chocolate raspberry ice cream. I will miss her always. Anne
"Auntie Liz" has been an unequaled part of my life for 20 years as a friend and mentor. Whether it be writing, parenting, quilting or uncooperative brain chemicals, Auntie Liz's sage advice always knocked me back on track. And I always new I'd succeeded when Auntie Liz would whisper in my ear "ya done good, kid." Her "Aries honesty" will help guide me for many more years to come.
“In autumn it’s hard not to think about warmth leaving the world.”
- Judi Beach, Another Autumn
And yet life has other plans for us. Because there was a Liz and because she let us in, this autumn the warmth settles all around us. It reminds us in the books that would never have been written without her advice, the one that was because of her courage, the writers who wrote better queries, the ones who asked better questions, the others of us who just got to enjoy a long conversation freed of the burden of taking ourselves too seriously.
Because of Liz, we all learned, even through the driest New England delivery, that words warm, love lasts, and friends stay all winter long, even until the sun at last returns.
Thanks, Liz, for reminding us to pay attention. You did; we will. I'll remember you always.
Love, Judy
I met Liz through a Fiction Writing course she taught at Cheshire Continuing Ed. She was the first to mold my thinking from that of a college lit major to a fiction writer.
“Yes,” she’d say patiently, “ ‘man vs himself’ is a form of conflict. But you’re gonna need a little bit more for commercial fiction.”
She pulled my head out of the ivory tower and into the game. She honed my critical thinking skills and made me laugh, especially at myself.
Thank you, Liz.
I am thankful for the quilt, the talking about NASCAR, and hugs.
My brother is thankful for his quilt, giggle wiggles, and Slader Mill soap.
I've been remembering the fun we had with Auntie Liz, like when she hosted the murder mystery party and her Harry Potter birthday party. She was also a really good hugger.
Liz, I remember so many things about you that I cherish: Once,especially your look across the table to me, one eyebrow delicately raised, at a particularly "interesting" comment. It cemented our friendship forever. Your incredibly enveloping hugs when I really needed them. Your tears on Nathan's birthday date. Your generosity, always. "When you look in your sisters' eyes, praise her!"
Holding you in the light,
Love,
Carol
Generosity was LIz's middle name. When I was ready to give up on GIFTED GROWNUPS, she looked me in the eye and said, "You cannot put this book in the drawer." Then she shared her own proposal so that I could use it as a pattern; and hear the editor who accepted it say, "This is the best proposal I've seen in ages."
I missed just one year at Skidmore and her Christmas card said, "Come back! We miss you." Our dear Liz can't come back, but what she gave all of us will remain.
And Sisters, as one who won the battle that Liz lost - please take care of your hearts!
I echo Judy's comment - our sorrow is tempered with the knowledge that she will see her son again.
Love and blessings to Zita, Kathy and Nancy, who were the essence of Friendship and love.
Marylou Streznewski
Liz, during the too-brief time I've known you, I've stuttered for words to precisely capture your way of being, so singular it deserves perfect phrasing. Thank you for your earth-solid presence, your truth-speaking, your fast intelligence and humor, and an authentic warmth and gentleness conveyed most memorably in your voice and resolve. Thank you for being in my corner.
Love you,
Marj
I met Liz in 1992. As a 'newbe' I was wandering the halls of the Skidmore Learning Center trying to get a feeling of where to go when someone said, "go to Liz's class. She's a hoot." Although I didn't think I'd ever write a book, I walked in. Liz, in her visual and fun way, showed us what "starting to run" looked like. And like Anne, I too picture Liz in that frozen running position. Liz went on to talk about the organizational aspect of writing a book. She made it sound so easy that I went home and wrote one. And then wrote a second edition. Not a day goes by that I don't think of Liz and wonder where my life might have gone, and where the lives of the women my books touched might have gone, had I not walked into her class.
Liz and I lunched together at the last Big Apple workshop. We shared a huge cookie and I invited her to visit. She talked about coming this winter. I wish we hadn't planned so far ahead.
I will always be grateful to Liz, not only for being Liz, but for reminding me, in her passing, that life is too short to put off what really counts: love and friendship. We have all been blessed to know Liz, and many of us, each other. As a tribute to Liz, let's keep that friendship going, not just at Skidmore, but all year long.
Liz, I miss you.
Carren
Words from the poet Jane Kenyon (1947 – 1995) in honour of you, Liz, and for the many, many who mourn and remember you.
“Let Evening Come”
Let the light of late afternoon
Shine through chinks in the barn, moving
Up the bales as the sun moves down.
Let the cricket take up chafing
As a woman takes up her needles
And her yarn. Let evening come.
Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
In long grass. Let the stars appear
And the moon disclose her silver horn.
Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
Go black inside. Let evening come.
To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
In the oats, to air in the lung
Let evening come.
Let it come, as it will, and don’t
Be afraid. God does not leave us
Comfortless, so let evening come.
(I will these words - in remembrance - before we begin writing at the Big Apple in New York City on Saturday. 'Where there is sorrow, there is holy ground.')
Skidmore—1983. My second year at the IWWG Conference. I’m walking down the corridor of a dorm trying to find my room. In the distance I hear typing. I pass an open door. It’s Liz Greenbacker and—she’s writing! Wow!
How many more Skidmore’s did we have? How many phone chats? How many weekends did we spend shopping (you for fabric, me for yarn, both for books), eating laughing, talking, crying, talking, laughing, crying, eating, talking, crying, and laughing laughing, laughing?
Thank you, Liz, for the help, the support, the encouragement and, of course, the laughing. Miss, ya. Luv, ya.
Glenda
To paraphrase something from the movie "Waking Ned Devine," Liz Aleshire had "a heart as big as her head in her chest" and there was always room in that heart for one more person. I wish I'd known her better, but the small bit of relationship we had meant a great deal to me. She gave and gave and gave of herself to the world around her. If we truly want to honor her, we can do no less. Liz, I'll miss you and will feel your grin in my heart the rest of my life.
Ed. Note: taken from D.H. Melham's email message:
I read the beautiful heartfelt (and heartrending) responses and am thankful for them. Each name--each recipient of your group email bears witness to what Liz meant to all of us. Liz is gone only in the tangible way we wished her to remain with us. But she is not gone in all the other ways she abides
among us.
Somehow I keep thinking of the gift baskets--the bounty of her spirit reaching out to known and unknown recipients, to the world of the Guild that she wanted to share. The beauty of her love, her bravery, her generosity, her creativity are her permanent legacy to us and to everyone. So in a real
sense she is here and will remain so.
With profound sympathy, D. H.
Ed. Note: Per D.R. Gray's email:
I believe there's another Guild brewing in heaven and I hear it's hellified.
Webster's Dictionary, 9th Edition defines an ancestor as 'one from whom one is descended.' It goes on to give a second even more meaningful definition of ancestor: "a manifestation of energy transformed."
Surely Liz's energy has been transformed as she joins her sisters in celebrating the life she lived, the hearts she touched, the support she gave, and the joy she brought to so many.
We have a mighty army of Guild angels watching over us, blessing Zita and all the dear ones who lent their time and energy to make sure Liz's last days were filled with love, and the blessing of divine friendship.
There's an African proverb that says, "One does not die unless one is forgotten." May we always take the time to remember.
Sharing the same sky,
Dorothy Randall Gray
Ed. Note: Per email from Heather Cariou:
Death is not extinguishing the light; it is putting out the lamp because the dawn has come.
Rabindranath Tagore
Indian educator & Bengali poet
I send warm and loving hugs to all, and hold fond memories of Liz close to my heart....
Heather
I came to know Liz though our mutual friend Glenda. I learned so very much from Liz during the workshops NEWN sponsored. Her generosity of heart, zest for life, and conversations we shared about NASCAR and the stories in our favorite country songs, will remain with me always and be part of my writing education as long as I am putting pen to paper. Godspeed, my friend and God Bless!
Ed. Note: per email from Terry-Anya Hayes:
The richness of the Guild replenishes. I think of my garden. The sadness of loss may be a final nourishment for seeds Liz planted and young (and old!) sprouts she coaxed forth. May she sow as much good wherever she is now as she has done here for us. Godspeed, Liz. Goddess bless, Zita.
Love to all my Guild Sisters.
-- Terry-Anya
I met Liz about 5 years ago on the set(s) of Zita's shows "Full Bloom" and "Page 1". It wasn't until recently that I really got to know her. I helped her record her "Wisdom for the Weekend Writer" spots which involved alot of time and energy on her part and the finished spots reflect that. They are wonderful and were used in every "Page 1" episode. We then dabbled in writing a screenplay together. Even though it went nowhere we became friends during that time. What I noticed about Liz was her thoughtfulness and willingness to just be herself. I was always at ease with her because she allowed me to just be myself. A wonderful quality. She also had the courage to speak her mind. She wasn't afraid to say "Nah, don't like it" and did so without offending, it was just the way she felt, nothing more nothing less. During my visits at the hospital she began calling me "kid" which is odd for a 50 year old to hear but again, it was easy because it was so endearing. I can't imagine the loss long term friends and family members must fell, I'm glad to have known her for the short time I did. If there were one thing I could say to her now it would be this: Liz, I'm truly going to miss you but am glad you're with Nathan again.
Kid.
I only met Liz last year, but I'm honored to say that I was able to work with her, on her book about helping others through grieving and loss, which is coming out next May. It's an amazing work that showcases a spirit of helping, and I hope it will be an enduring part of her legacy.
--Shana Drehs
The Guild and the world have lost a wonderful woman, but what a gift she was to so many. A heartfelt thanks to her many close friends who walked her all the way home with love and wisdom. Stay close. Marsha McGregor
Ed. Note: per email by Kitt Alexander:
Dear loved ones,
Our Liz's body is gone from this little blue marble, but she's with Ann and Jean and Judi now. What fine company they'll keep.
Ann, brandishing her cigarette, is introducing Liz all around and showing her how to work the room.
While grieving the loss of Liz as we knew her, I'm nevertheless heartened by the thought of that.
Great love to all,
Kitt
Liz,
You and I had a much diffrent relationship than what I here and read. I always knew you were a good person but I guess sisters have a diffrent perspective of each other. I am so sorry we had not been closer in the early years. You said I was smarter than you but brains cannot compare with the amount of love you recieved from so many. I admit I have been envious of that. But in the end I was very thankful for all of them,I saw how happy they made you. I hope you are happy with those who passed before and I'm sure mommy is hugging you now like you wanted. Don't worry I will be ok but you already know that.I LOVE YOU and MISS YOU!!!
I too knew Liz through writing. How lucky we all were to share even a little of her energy, humor and sagacity. Ann
We jouney through life knowing little of what or whom will come into it. I considered my brief time of knowing Liz a gift. I saw her not only as my patient in the ICU, but as a truly unique and strong woman, wise, witty and a ferocious fighter. I look forward to reading her book when it comes out next year as I believe there will be great wisdom to guide me in the future care of those who have experienced loss, I will think of her often. Thanks Liz, for leaving an impression on my heart!
Trish
I met Liz through Glenda Baker and the NEWN sponsored writing seminars. Liz impressed me with her knowledge and no BS approach to writing and also with her wry wit, no matter what the subject. She was a great lady and will be much missed. - Janet Halpin
I feel like a mouse dropping a tiny seed into an immense, tall pile. The name "Liz" is inscribed on my small, golden seed. Inside the seed is shimmering light, and when the pile is finished (for now) it will burst and broadcast its scintillating rays into the world's atmosphere. The light is infused with one of Life's eternal and true qualities, one that Liz managed to make her own during her lifetime here. My seed bears the light of generosity and I bear it as witness. Being with Liz I felt, every time that I was with her, wriggling my little mouse ears, a willingness to listen (take) and a willingness to give without being asked. All this was accomplished with a knowing chuckle, "Heh-heh," and the wink that Zita so aptly describes. Now how did Liz know that? On what beach did she scoop up that mirthful pearl of wisdom? Now looking at her tracks in the sand, leading to a path beyond the horizon, I pray that we are blessed to find such particular pearls of wisdom in our own paths. I'm hoisting my seed up now, adding to the wonderful mountain of manna that Liz's spirit leaves behind for all of us to glean. Heidi Schultz
Condolences to everyone on the death of IWWG Special Sister, Liz Greenbacher Aleshire.
Liz had a way of bringing for me anyway Green Energy wherever she went. Now that I think about it, I wish I could have shared that with her that her energy enable growing and Spring and all the things that energize the growth of writers.
Then, of course, there was the Liz look, accompanied with her crooked smile, that contained a message of Oxford English Dictionary proportions which left never quite sure I solved all of the cryptic mystery it contained.
I will miss Liz' Green Energy buzzing through IWWG each year. Blessing to all, Barbara Garro
What is Remembered Lives!
Bright eyes
Warm, welcoming smile
A willing, giving heart
All made up our Liz.
Now she lives on in each memory
we share of her many kindnesses
to all of us as-
What is Remembered Lives!
What is Remembered Lives!
What is Remembered Lives!
Uzuri
I posted already, but I wanted to share a snippet of one of the last times I saw Liz.
I thought about bringing it up at her memorial service, but I felt too distraught to tell this story in front of the crowd. Her little niece was so sweet and brave.
Plus, I've felt like a bad friend because I hadn't stayed in touch with her any better. There's always "later," you know?
So, I didn't think I had any right to speak up at her service where her spirit was embraced by so many people who'd been present in her last days. True friends. Not posers, like me.
Anyway, after that bit of "authorial throat-clearing," as she would have called those previous paragraphs, a couple of years ago, Liz and I had gone out to dinner to discuss a short story I had hired her to edit.
We were talking about our projects, and I mentioned a scene I'd recently written for my mystery. The funeral scene for the murder victim. I had shared that I felt a little sheepish over having cried while writing it.
Liz just smiled that knowing smile and said, "Good. If your writing can access your emotions, you can trigger someone else's."
In late April, we'd re-surfaced for each other and made tentative plans to meet up for dinner again, just to catch up, after she had returned from Skidmore. Of course, I remembered "later" and through coincidence, I found out how sick she was.
Thank you to all of you writers who finished her book. That's a story in itself.
Of course I took her class at Skidmore, hasn't everyone who attends the Conference? And what I learned I'll carry with me as I'll carry her memory. I'll miss her familiar face and sage words. till next time. Arlene
Ah, Liz, my mistress of madcap irony and pun. You are missed. Together we supported one another through our losses: my physical well being, your son's death. Each year, after your return, we set aside special time to just be quiet together, recognize one another's pain, recognize one another, smoke a cigarette (until I stopped), eat a Hershey's miniature, and just relish each other's existence.
Each year that I taught puppet making at Skidmore you came in and spent 6 days creating a new family. The first year was the cigar chomper. The next year you showed up with infant's clothes purchased at Babies R Us or some other discount store, and set about working. Your puppet family sat in your car with you, strapped safely into the back seat, though, if I am not mistaken, Cigar Guy sat up front.
Each year at Skidmore for you was tough, for the conference fell on your son's birthday. We would spend some time each year celebrating his life, encouraging ourselves to continue despite all our own difficulties and loss.
Lis, my chortling gal, you are missed. I am saddened by the knowledge that your huge heart could not sustain you beyond the impossible concept of dead. However, your huge heart does sustain you in my life, and in my heart, made larger and more generous just for the knowing of you.
The Baloma, a South Sea Island tribe, believe that as long as there is one person alive who knew the person who has died, then the person still exists among the people. Generations have been known to recount actual knowledge, not just folklore about their elders. Liz, live on in the Baloma tradition, knowing that you touched the heart of many, very young and very blessed and of every generation.
Love,
Margie Ann Stanko
I did not know Liz but what a beautiful tribute this surely is. elaine
When I read the news of Liz Alshire in my online version of the IWWG Network, I found myself filled with sadness -- yet also with hope and inspiration. So I ran into my bedroom and found the special folders -- the red folder for non-fiction and the yellow folder for fiction. I remember how I always had to decide in Liz's class at the IWWG whether I'd go for the red or the yellow -- Liz always gave me a hard time 'cause I couldn't decide. I wanted both! In the end, she'd relent and let me have the red and the yellow. A part of Liz's heart and soul remain in these folders and in my heart as well. Hey Liz, wherever you are -- know that these folders, both the yellow and th red, are really gonna come in handy! I'll never forget you.
Love, Melody xoxoxo
I never knew Liz, nor had I even heard of her until the Middlesex East paper ran a cover story of her book "101 Ways You Can Help" After reading that article I immediately went to Amazon and bought her (and the friends)book. I found that Liz and I are connected in an odd way. She died on the day of my father's funeral almost 7 months ago. I was 23, and he was 56. He left us so suddenly and since then I have been completely lost in pent up feelings, confused emotions - "complicated grief" she called it in her book. Her book arrived last night and I spent the night pouring over it- highlighting, reading and rereading sections. I really hear her voice in her words, and my God does she give me hope. Someone knows how I feel. Someone has been there. Her words are tangible proof that the hole I am in has been occupied before. What a wonderful, strong woman, and I only wish she could have been around for me to tell her what an effect her book has had on me. The world has lost someone truly special. I want to thank Kathy, Marsha, Zita, Judy, Paula and Anne for giving me the ladder to climb out of the hole.
And above all, thank you, Liz.
-Ali MacEachern
It's been a year. Miss you like sin.
Still luv ya, kid.
Marsha
The internet is such an interesting place. About 4-5 years ago I went through a nasty split between a business partner who happened to be a best friend. I was left with an enormous mess to clean up. I needed help and contacted a local agency to send someone for a few months and they sent Liz. My office was packed so we worked side by side. We talked every day and she gave me all sorts of advice, both personal and business. She put things in order like I had never seen before and I was able to get things back on track. I was so impressed that years later (today) after having grown the company 10 times the size I though I would search out Liz and try to persuade her to come back and take a full time position. Sad to see such an amazing person has passed. I wish all her friends and family the best with a note from a random person that she touched and helped put back on course. Regards,
Bill
I met Liz in 1983 at Skidmore College at an IWWG conference. What a remarkable women. We corresponded by snail mail for a few years after the conference and I left IWWG and pursued other paths. We lost touch many years ago, but today I decided to google her as I will be visiting Saratoga Springs soon and found that she had passed on. She was a wonderful woman, who became my friend instantly and encouraged my poetry and writing from the moment she read it. Although I never published, I never quit writing completely. She left a huge impression that traveled with me through life. Rest in peace sweet Liz.
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