Ellie and Ellie - Remembering a Friend Who Has Passed

Once upon a time there were two girls named Ellie growing up in Brooklyn who giggled all the time. They were cheerleaders, belonged to honor society and flirted with boys. Today it's with a heavy heart that I report the loss of my dear friend Ellie who died recently of cancer. She was a teacher, married, and leaves behind a son, Louis. Ellie had been living in Long Island, not Florida like most of my friends from NY. We were both Elinors with an "i" not an "ea" and went by Ellie.

Ellie's brother Andy called today to reminded me of the time he was 4 and lost on Bay 4 at Brighton Beach. I found him crying and returned him to his mother (that was before I knew Ellie). Andy said he never forgot that day.

[Personal note to Ellie from Ellie - You know I speak to those who have crossed over as we, on more than one occasion, talked to your deceased husband Marty. Glad to see you two together again. Thanks for stopping by to chat today. You put up a brave fight my friend and I will never forget you and the times we shared. With love and appreciation to a beautiful soul.]

You may remember me posting these pics with Ellie

July 2017 - Ellie, Ellie, and Anita

June 2018 - Ellie, Ellie and Linda celebrating our 75th birthdays.

I learned something from the friends I spoke to in my age group this week ... something I never considered. They wake up each morning to discover they are still alive. Some have health issues while others don't. Never in my wildest dreams have I woken up and thought, "I'm alive today". I see myself part of this reality until the simulation closes. Ask yourself this ... Do use foresee your death? I don't. I see the end of the simulation.

---

October 4, 1941

Anne Rice

Anne Rice is a best-selling American author of metaphysical
gothic fiction, Christian literature, and erotica.

As they die, the ones we love, we lose our witnesses,
our watchers, those who know and understand the
tiny little meaningless patterns of life,

those words drawn in water with a stick.
And there is nothing left but the endless flow.

---