I am the wordsmith, but now have no words. I am supposed to be inured to pain, but now the agony bites deeper. How I loved that little girl, with her baby voice and spun-gold hair. How I loved to see her with my own children, cousins together, with bonds taken too much for granted. How I loved the grown-up Asha, with the swinging earrings and our pride in her and what she was doing with her life.
Too few years, but every memory indelible now.
I once adapted this poem because it says so much about how I feel about my long-lost sister. Now another angel has ascended to join her in the ranks of those radiant will'o'the wisps that we hold in our hearts forever.
"Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain.
I miss her in the weeping of the rain.
I miss her at the shrinking of the tide.
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go - so with her memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell her foot or shone her face,
I say "There is no memory of her here,"
And so stand stricken, so remembering her."
From her loving aunt Linda and uncle Norman in Israel As an adult, I met Asha twice;
First, at my wedding and again during my honeymoon in South Africa.
Both times I was seeing the through rose-coloured glasses, to say the least.
Even during these times where the whole world was shining brightly,
Asha shone more brightly than the rest.
Dancing at the wedding, charming everyone. Walking with us through Capetown, sharing favorite haunts, food, thoughts and hopes for the future with Tsipy and me.
Asha is now frozen in time, a delicate fairy-princess dancing under the lights of my wedding and a mischievous sprite sauntering under the African sun.
Robbie From tiny baby to little girl, from shy teenager to lovely young woman. Living so far away, we saw Asha grow up in fits and starts. As far flung cousins do, we saw Asha mainly on special occasions – at bar mitzvahs, weddings and when babies were born. But actually, looking through our photos, Asha was present at a surprisingly large number of the Israeli Barrons’ events. With that radiant smile of hers, Asha brought in the sunshine wherever she went. Unspoken, there was always the assumption that in due course we would return the favour and come to join in celebrating Asha’s happy occasions. Your death, sweet Asha, has forced us off-course. What should have been, will not be. John Donne wrote “so now the sick starved world must feed upon this joy, that we had her, who now is gone.” We’re happy that you were part of our lives and we will never forget you. Your loving cousins, Jade, Rami, Shvo, Libby & Mishaella I searched through my poetry collection, trying to find a poem to express how I feel and how I felt about Asha.
In the end I wrote my own.
I can only hope it expresses my love towards Asha and how wholly beautiful she was. From Melody Barron, Asha's cousin.
The man had said
That there is a crack
in everything
That that is how the light gets in.
But the woman had said
That she has looked at the clouds
from both sides and that they block
the sun from shining on
Her radiance is not dimmed
Her light still shines in
Her voice cuts through the haze
And creates that crack in everything
Little pieces of all our hearts
Are now dedicated to her
splintered and battered
illuminated by our reflection
and the immersion of affection My first memory of Asha is of a very pale, very bundled-up baby at the back of the van that took us on a family trip – Mummy and Daddy, Peter and Heather, me, Jade, Robert and Melody, Kai and Asha – to Zimbabwe after Grandpa’s consecration, in 1989. My strongest memory of Asha is of a beautiful little girl in a light pink dress dancing at my wedding, wearing a dark pink jersey to keep off the chill of a Jerusalem night in August, 1997. My last memory of Asha is explaining the more unusual dishes in the menu of a old-fashioned restaurant, Rachmo, near the Mahane Yehuda market, a few days after my brother Robert’s wedding in 2009. I am the oldest granddaughter and Asha was the youngest – we lived in different countries, and we didn’t have many opportunities to meet or get to know each other, but I look at my wedding album quite often. To me, Asha will forever be that little girl, dancing and dancing even as she was falling asleep. Leigh
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