Merry Mazel Tov

I heard that on TV and thought it was appropriate, especially for this Jewish family with one goy (that would be Curt). We fly to Florida tomorrow and then we're off for a 10 day Western Carribean cruise and a few extra days in Fort Lauderdale. I can't tell you how much I need this rest. Daniel will be spending the holidays with his girlfriend and her family. We already booked our timeshare in Cabo for next Thanksgiving so I told him he has no choice now.

School is good, great actually. I finished my two fall classes, both with As, and I'll apply to the program in January. I did terribly on the quantitative section of the GRE but just got an A in Statistics so hopefully that's good enough. At this rate, I'll be in school for another 5-6 years but I don't mind a bit. I can't even describe how different it is now than when I went to college in the late 70s/early 80s. I don't think school has changed as much as I have. Adrienne would be very proud of me.

Adrienne's friend Sara from CMC came to visit last weekend. I was so happy to have her and to reminisce, look at pictures, and talk about her. Sara spent time going through Adrienne's things and took some letters and pictures that were special for them, as well as some clothes. I've been giving away her things to her friends and family for awhile as I want them to go to people who appreciate them. No worries...I'm keeping everything I want, which is plenty. I even wear some of her clothes as I like having them close and I'll wear her earrings forever. Some days I'm okay and other days are really, really hard. Actually, every day is hard but somehow I get through day by day.

This has been a tough year not just for us but for many other's who've lost a loved one to this disease. There are still a lot of people who suffer from and die of Hodgkin's so I remain committed to this community, and to the many friends I've made over the years. Happy Mazel Tov to every one.

From Me - At Adrienne's Unveiling

Thank you everyone for coming today to honor and remember Adrienne. As most of you know, Adrienne and I were more than just mother and daughter. We were best friends. Though it’s been a year since she died, the hole I feel is just as deep and raw as it was a year ago. Now Adrienne would be the first to tell me how silly I am, but I can’t help how I feel.

I know she touched many people by how she lived her life, trying never to let cancer define her or stop her from living to the fullest. She was a large part of the lymphoma forum and they recently did a memorial for her. As Michael said, “In a hundred years or so, maybe someone will be doing a study of our civilization and will run across this board. And they will wonder, "Who is this Adrienne person? She must have been someone special to have touched and inspired so many." Yes, she was special and for me, she will always be beautiful and perfect.

Unveiling - October 24, 2 pm

Adrienne's unveiling is scheduled for next Sunday, October 24, at 2 pm. I'm scared to death to see her name on the headstone but I know we need to do this, we need to honor her and her life. Still, I'm expecting it to be tough. The ceremony will be held graveside and attendees are welcomed back to my sister, Diana's house afterwards.

The one-year anniversary of Adrienne's death was about as bad as I expected but I've been getting through the last few weeks okay. Thank you all for your notes and cards. I was truly overwhelmed.

Work and school are busy, so that helps a lot. One would think that time passing is helpful but I find it the opposite...it means Adrienne is farther away and I worry that memories will fade. Sometimes she seems like a dream.

Daniel is going to Colorado for Xmas with his girlfriend's family so it's just me and Curt. We'll be going on a cruise to the Western Carribean, which includes Cozumel, Mexico as well as stops in Honduras, Guatemala, and Belize. We're looking forward to seeing the Mayan ruins as well as some much-needed R&R.

From Adrienne's Dad

To everybody who knew Adrienne:

It is with profound sadness that we find ourselves on October 1st 2010. On this day a year ago we lost our daughter to cancer. It was heartbreaking for all who knew her, because we witnessed such a long and valiant fight, right to the very end.

Adrienne tried harder to live than just about anybody I have ever known. She lived her life to the maximum, made plans and followed her dreams. She never let cancer stand in her way (it was just an inconvenience), and it made her even more determined to excel in everything she did.

We miss her so deeply and I can only hope we will meet her once again in some future life.

Adrienne Leigh Boardman (August 18th 1987 ~ October 1st 2009)

Please visit Adrienne's Photo Gallery at:
http://www.eazyclick.com/photos/index.php?album=adrienne

With love - David Boardman (Adrienne's father)

New Unveiling Date - October 24

Just a quick note to let you know that I'm changing the unveiling date to accommodae my school schedule. I know Adrienne would understand. It'll be on Sunday, October 24. I'll post details as soon as I get confirmation from the rabbi.

Birthdays

I'm not sure who's still reading. I haven't felt like posting much. Everytime I think about it and log in, I can't figure out what to write. Adrienne's birthday is coming up this week and I'm not sure how I'll deal with it. Daniel's on his way here right now and his birthday is the day after Adrienne's. It used to be such a happy time. They had so many wonderful birthdays over the years.

I finished my class and got an A. Wow. The last session was on Death and Dying and I chose not to go. Unless you've been through this, I don't think you can know what it's like and I don't like crying in front of people that I don't know well. Over the years, we've known many people who lost a child and I never pretended to understand what they were going through. I just tried to be there for them. People who are many years out tell me that their pain is just as deep. Perhaps they have fewer tears and get through the days better, but the pain never lessens. Most people just don't know what to say to me, even family. It seems like they just want me to move on though I'm not sure what that means. I like talking about Adrienne and remembering so many good times we had together but a lot of people are uncomfortable talking about her, like somehow it's contagious. I promise...it's not.

1997

"1997 was the year I beat cancer."

This was the first line of an essay Adrienne wrote in 5th grade, a few months after finishing her first round of treatment. We all thought it was true and were working hard at getting back to normal. I so wish it were true. I found the essay while seaching for my college diploma and cried the rest of the day - no diploma but I did receive my transcript and have graduate standing at UNLV.

Are things better? It's not really like that, more like a roller coaster of downs and better days. My nephews had their bar mitzvah last weekend and between tears, mine, I managed to do my part in the ceremony and enjoy the party that night.

I start class next week. We'll see how it goes.

What's Next?

I definitely need something new and different to take my attention. Work has been great but I need a new challenge so I've decided to go back to school. I'll be taking a summer class just after the 4th of July to see how it feels and then will work toward applying for the Fall 2011 term. First, I need to take the dreaded GRE, dreaded because I don't remember the math. I looked it over and I remember the terms so hopefully it'll come right back to me. In the meantime, I can take as many classes as I want at UNLV. First up is a masters in Educational Psychology followed by a PhD. I know, these are big, long range plans (about 6 years worth) and we'll have to see how it goes but I'm not planning to make myself crazy over this. Just taking it a day at a time. Long term, I'd like to teach at a university level and maybe do a bit of research.

Last week, I went to Cabo with my sister and a friend. It was great and a good opportunity. The weather was perfect and we were happy to lay by the pool most days. I'm ready to go back already.

I don't think I've posted a picture of Rudy so here you go with his buddy Moe (Rudy is the bigger one with more white on his face). I call them "Dink" (Moe) and "Bigger Dink" (Rudy).



And we don't want to leave Caesar out. It seems like I can only get a picture when he's laying down, which he does most of the time and he won't let Moe and Rudy in the picture with him.

Time

I think most of us think that time heals all ills. I used to think that but not any more. If anything, I think it gets worse and worse. As more time passes, I realize how final this is, that Adrienne isn't coming back. The more time passes, the further away she gets. I worry that I'll forget about things, that she'll be further from my life. Now we have to order the headstone. I found out that some parents wait years to do this but we have to since the unveiling is coming up. I worked on the words but my sister, Diana, is taking care of the details because I just can't do it. It's too final. So I guess the bottom line is, time doesn't help.

This weekend, a year ago, was Adrienne's college graduation. The last year of college was so incredibly difficult, chemo, surgeries, hospitalizations, pneumonias, but she was so tough and determined. I'm incredibly proud of her and everything she accomplished. She was happy and proud and it was too shortlived. I hope you'll continue to think of her.

Dark Days

To say that things have been rough lately is putting it mildly. If I didn't have work and dogs that need to go out, I'd probably stay in bed all day. I'm sorry for not returning emails and phone calls. I get them and really appreciate the thoughts. Please be patient with me as I try to figure this out.

Last week, I decided to send a note of complaint to NVCI about "a-hole" doctor. You can read about him if you go back to the blog for last September. My sister's in-laws are physicians and always encouraged me to write to the chief of staff when we had a legitimate complaint. In all these years, I only wrote once (besides last week) when there was an issue regarding a surgery Adrienne had when she was 10. I spoke with the chief medical officer for an hour, who it turns out, was a transplant doc at Moffit Cancer Center in Tampa for 16 years, so she was well acquainted with the type of medical issues Adrienne had. I'm so glad we talked. She's going to take some very direct action with the doctor, providing counseling and direction, and patients will now be able to decline to see a doctor when inpatient. She also wants me to participate in some patient advocacy and resident/fellowship training, which I'd like to do. I generally think there's a lack of patient input and understanding on the part of medical professionals and especially oncologists. I'm thinking of doing a talk titled "When you say this, we hear that."

I'm hoping that a few trips in the near future will help: Tucscon for a long weekend, a week in Cabo with the girls, and 2 weeks at the end of July in the Bay Area (some work, some vacation). I always love having visitors here too and we have plenty of room.

Unveiling Date - October 17, 2010

Adrienne's unveiling will be on October 17, 2010 at 2:30 in the afternoon. This is a short graveside service that includes reading of several psalms (1, 23, 24, 103), Mourners Kaddish, and the prayer "El Malei Rachamim. At the end of the ceremony, a cloth or shroud covering that has been placed on the headstone is removed. We'll probably do some sort of reception afterwards. I hope you can save the date if you're in the area.

Sisterhood

I haven't felt much like writing lately but wanted to post a couple of URLs for you to look at. This blog post (http://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2010/04/07/the-sisterhood/) was written by another mom that lost her son to Hodgkin's around the same time that Adrienne died. It says a lot of things better than I could. As she says:

We do not walk our path by choice the journey has been cruelly thrust upon us. We do not ever want to have fellow travelers join us the way is too long and painful and the journey never-ending.

Also, I hope you'll take a minute to view Janna's fundraising page for LLS (http://pages.teamintraining.org/sj/lavatri10/janna). She recently did a triathalon in Adrienne's honor. Make sure you read the post on December 17, 2009.

Dancing with the Stars

Most days, I do okay. I work, I take care of the house, I walk the dogs, I cook, the usual day to day things. But here and there, something just takes my breath away. This week, it's "Dancing with the Stars." The new season started last fall while Adrienne was in the hospital. I left the TV on much of the time, mostly for background noise. When Adrienne was awake, she held the remote but after she was put on the vent, I would ask her if she wanted to watch this or that and she would nod. I knew what programs she liked so it was easy. Her last "good" day was the Monday before she died. Uncle Kent stayed with her for awhile so I could go home and get cleaned up. When I got back to the hospital, Kent was telling her stories and she seemed to enjoy them. Later that night, I asked if she wanted to watch "Dancing with the Stars" and she nodded yes. That was the last "conversation" we had.

A friend asked me recently if Compassionate Friends is helpful. I'm not sure myself. I've learned some good coping mechanisms and have received some good advice, but I think it's making things harder right now. Of course, losing a child is the worst thing that can happen but, even in that, we have different experiences and different relationships with our children. I'm not comparing or saying that one is worse than the other, it's just different. I find it hard to imagine what it would be like to have a drug addicted 28 year old who commits suicide, just as that parent can't imagine what it's like to have a sick child for many years. I find myself crying on the way to the meeting and for days afterward, which doesn't seem productive. There's also an online group of parents who lost a child to cancer. I read the posts and occasionally post myself but I even find it hard to relate to some of those people's experience. Reading about grief isn't very helpful either. So, I guess I'll take a little break from all of the support stuff for now.

Getting By

Last night was my Compassionate Friends meeting. Sadly, there were a lot of people there, some I knew, some were new. There was a young couple whose 9 year old son died 3 weeks ago from an asthma attack. Raw is the word they use. Dad did most of the talking. Mom couldn't say a word. I still feel raw at these meetings, even though I think I'm getting through the days better. I had a tough time during Oscars, since it was something Adrienne loved and they showed clips of "Julie and Julia," the last movie she and I saw together. I know she would have been rooting for Meryl Streep.

Through these difficult years, I was always thankful, knowing that there were people out there that had it worse than us. I knew many people who had lost a child to cancer, but we still had Adrienne. Even though it's the most awful thing that could happen, even though I lost my best friend, there are people now who have it worse, people who lost a child more recently or who are waiting for the day when they'll lose their child, knowing that it's inevitable. Last night, one dad said that each day, he finds 10 people who are having a worse day than him. When his only daughter died last year, he couldn't find 10 people, much less 1 or 2. Now he's getting closer to the 10 number. I'm sure I'll get there too.

One concern that we all share is that our kids are okay, even if they aren't with us anymore. I think about that all the time. Some people have seen a psychic but I'm not into that type of thing. Still, it's given them some peace of mind, hearing that their kids are okay. I pray that Adrienne isn't scared or in pain, that she's at peace.

The "Art" of Crying

I've always thought of myself as level headed but in touch with my feelings. I cried during happy times (birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, even the kids' school plays). A good movie always brought plenty of tears (think "Million Dollar Baby" and "Terms of Endearment"). And of course, there are life events including the death of my father and several close friends, as well as my divorce from Adrienne and Daniel's father. I couldn't imagine crying touching me any more deeply as those times...until now. As I've said here before, I don't cry all the time, but when I do, it's so deep and painful, more painful that I thought was possible, all the way to my core. At my Compassionate Friends meeting, they said not to try to hold it in because that just leads to a bigger breakdown so that's what I'm trying to do.

We're getting out a bit more. Over the President's Day weekend, we went to Santa Barbara to see Daniel. I'm going to Cabo with some girlfriends (hi!) in May, Curt and I are going to Tucson for a weekend in April, and we'll be in the Bay Area at the end of June for my nephews' bar mitzvah. We'll also be back in early October for Adrienne's unveiling. I'll post details when I figure that out.

Getting out

Last weekend, Curt and I went to our first show since Adrienne died, Terry Fator (the guy who won America's Got Talent). We've always been a family that enjoyed live theater of every type: music, comedy, drama, and so on. Adrienne would have loved Terry Fator and it made me think of all the shows we saw over the years: Jersey Boys, Phantom, Elton John, Cirque du Soleil, George Carlin, plus many, many more. When she and I went on an Alaskan cruise after the marathon in 2004, we saw two shows a night, grabbing a quick bite for dinner in between. One night, we asked the purser about that evening's shows and he told us it was impossible to see two shows a night. We laughed, telling him we'd done it every other night.

I found this recently and it explains how I feel much of the time.

---------------------------------------

What do we wish others understood about the loss of our child? Here is a partial list of such wishes:

I wish you would not be afraid to speak my child’s name. My child lived and was very important and I need to hear her name.

I wish you wouldn’t feel awkward if I mention her name.

If I cry or get emotional if we talk about my child, I wish you knew that it isn’t because you hurt me: the fact that my child died has caused my tears. You have allowed me to cry and I thank you. Crying and emotional outbursts are healing.

I will have emotional highs and lows, ups and downs. I wish you wouldn’t think that if I have a good day my grief is all over, or if I have a bad day I need psychiatric counseling.

I wish you knew that the death of a child is different from other losses and must be viewed separately. It is the ultimate tragedy and I wish you wouldn’t compare it to the loss of a parent, spouse or pet.

Being a bereaved parent is not contagious, so I wish you wouldn’t shy away from me.

I wish you knew that all the “crazy” grief reactions that I am having are in fact very normal. Depression, anger, frustration, hopelessness, the questioning of values and beliefs are to be expected following the death of a child.

I wish you wouldn’t expect my grief to be over in six months. The first few years are going to be exceedingly traumatic for us.

As with alcoholics, I will never be “cured” or a “former bereaved parent,” but will forever be a “recovering bereaved parent.”

I wish you understood the physical reaction to grief. I may gain or lose weight, sleep all the time or not at all, lose my short-term memory, develop a host of illness and be accident prone, all of which may be related to my grief.

Our child’s birthday, the anniversary of her death, and the holidays are terrible times for us. I wish you could tell us that you are thinking about our child these days and if we get quiet and withdrawn, just know that we are thinking about our child and missing her terribly.

Please understand the I am not the same person I was before my child died, and do not expect me to "get back to my old self". I am forever changed, but if you give me a chance, you may find that you like the "new me".

Four months today

It's hard to believe that Adrienne left us four months ago today. Much of that time has been a blur. They tell me that numbness is what helps us cope. I often have vivid dreams about Adrienne and last night dreamt about her wedding. I so wish that we'd have that day.

I still receive condolence cards from time to time. Last week, I got one from Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center. I'm not sure how they heard but she was involved in a number of their long term studies and always wanted to help. I assume that one of her more recent doctors informed them when they got yet another form to fill out, but Adrienne always did them happily.

I received another card that I'd like to share. "Dear Alison, I'm sorry this card took so long to send. Everytime I sat down to write it, my emotions got the best of me. As you know, she was perfect. Pretty, intelligent, and a wonderful personality. I can't even imagine the pain of your suffering. The only positive thing I can say from the heart is...you didn't have her long enough but she was perfect in every way the time you did. I pray a lot."

Today's Thoughts

If you've posted here, you know that I moderate them. I did this at first because of the ads that were being posted (usually for viagra or an adult site) but sometimes the notes are really strange and I reject those. There were a couple recently of note. One person said that this site helped with a school project. Another said that the recent posts were more interesting than the older ones. Huh? I've also had a few requests to post links to noteworthy causes (Haiti relief, healthcare information sites) and I've declined, not because they aren't worthwhile but because that isn't the purpose of this site. Anyways, don't let that discourage you from posting or writing to me. I like hearing from you even if I don't always respond right away. I'm getting better...able to talk on the phone most of the time now without crying the whole time. No promises on the crying part.

Adrienne's death was the most painful thing we've ever experienced and continue to experience. One dad at Compassionate Friends said he already had the worst day of his life and it's so true. Still, I'm thankful for the time we had together, a lot longer than most doctors thought we would. We never lost hope and she lived as full a life as anyone could under the circumstances. I still think back happily on so many things...trips, graduation, dinners out, even TV. A new season of Project Runway just started and it would have made her so happy to watch it. Every time I watch one of our programs, I think about how excited she would be. Oh, and she would have loved Rudy, telling him a thousand times a day how pretty he is, just like she did with Moe (and Prince and Caesar before them).

Sometimes, I feel so hopeless when it comes to refractory Hodgkin's. For most people, a Hodgkin's diagnosis is a few months out of their lives and then things go back to normal, but for refractory folks, it's a constant nightmare. Kelly Urban, whom I met last year when she was in Las Vegas, passed away last week (http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/kellyurban) and Bekah is going through a very rough time right now. I have hope that they'll come up with something soon, but in the meantime, it's tough, really tough.

Finding normal?

I'm not sure what normal is any more. I'm trying, but I'm not there yet. I still get up each morning and go about my day but I don't feel normal at all. People tell me I'll find a new normal. Only time will tell. The smallest thing can get me off track. Last week, it was the dentist of all things.

Getting a puppy has turned out to be a great move. Rudy has no idea what's going on and he's always just himself...funny, sweet, mischevious, well, a puppy. Last week, a part of the sprinkler broke and the mud was too much to resist. That made me laugh for quite awhile. He's too big now to lie down in Caesar's food bowl but seeing him lie down there was pretty funny too. He'll be perfect once he's fully housebroken (yes, he's been a challenge) but seeing that little tail wag just makes my day.

I wanted to extend an open invitation to any Las Vegas visitors. We love showing people around. Please send me an email if you're planning a trip this way.

Adrienne Leigh Boardman • Adriana Chai bat Avigail

Funeral Service
October 4, 2009 • 16 Tishrei 5770

The words of Psalm 121:
I lift up my eyes to the mountains;
What is the source of my help?
My help comes from Adonai,
Maker of heaven and earth. (1-2)

A poet has written:
After my death, mourn me thus:
A girl lived -- behold, she is no more.
Before her time her life was ended
And the song of her life was broken off.
Oh, she had more melodies within her
Melodies now lost
Forever.

We are gathered here today to say goodbye to Adrienne, to mourn a life ended too soon. Today is the second day of the Jewish festival of Sukkot. It is customary during Sukkot to read from the biblical Book of Kohelet, or Ecclesiastes. A well-known verse from this book says, “The eye never has enough of seeing nor the ear of hearing” (1:8). For those who knew and loved Adrienne, or were inspired by her life, your eyes, your ears, your hearts have not had enough. Not enough time with your daughter, your sister, your niece, granddaughter, cousin, friend. And Adrienne, too, had not had enough of this world. She did not want to die, and her passing, and the long illness that led to it, is a tragedy that has robbed the world of a person who was going to make it better.

I did not know Adrienne, but like so many people who have commented on her blog over the years, and especially over the last few days, her story has touched me, and I am honored to stand here today to give voice to the memories of some of her family.

Adrienne was born on August 18, 1987, and grew up in Saratoga. She went to Saratoga High School, and just this past spring she graduated cum laude from Claremont McKenna College with a degree in Psychology and Leadership. While in college, she spent part of her junior year at Columbia University in New York City. Though it was far from home, she loved New York, and loved the academic atmosphere at Columbia. She was enrolled in a joint Master’s and teaching credential program at UNLV, and over the summer, she’d begun taking her first classes. She was going to be a math teacher.

One of the first things I learned about Adrienne is that she was never afraid of anything. Even from the time that she was a little girl, she was fearless. Once, when the family was in Hawaii, she didn’t hesitate to jump on a rope swing over a pool—she just jumped right in. She was one of those kids who would come right up to you and talk to you. She was intelligent, and a hard worker. She loved learning—when she was in Kindergarten, she would bring home a new book every day, read it, and go on to the next one, and the next one, and the one after that. She loved college, and her education was the most important thing to her. When she was undergoing treatment, she would bring her school work with her to chemo, and she’d do her very best to ensure that her treatment did not interfere with her learning. Finishing school meant so much to her that she cried at graduation.

Adrienne also loved dogs, and at one point asked Alison how she could get a kennel license so that she could have more than three at a time. I am told that she was honest, sometimes to a fault. She loved movies and wrote reviews of every film she saw. Someone recently commented to Alison that they missed Adrienne’s Facebook movie reviews. Adrienne loved food, and became interested in good food while watching Food Network in the hospital. Not a cook herself, she would pick out recipes for her mom to cook for her. Alison, you told me about a special meal that you recently shared together at Jean Georges, one of the finest restaurants in New York City. You ordered the tasting menu and enjoyed a four-hour meal together.

Adrienne was a planner. For her, planning ahead—whether it was about her career or her new apartment—was an act of bold optimism. It was a statement: I am not cancer; cancer doesn’t define me. I will make for myself a normal life. This is what she wanted most: a normal life with family and friends. Though she fought cancer from the age of nine, going through treatment after treatment after treatment, the words that perhaps best define her are the ones on the home page of her blog: “Though I’ve now had cancer for most of my life, I no longer plan my life around it; instead, I try to plan cancer around my life.” She was realistic, but never resigned to her fate. Her doctors couldn’t believe how hard she fought. She was inspirational, not only to her immediate family and friends, but also to other cancer patients and to complete strangers in the far reaches of this country and the world. People spoke of her “fierce determination.” In recent years, when she was in the adult oncology wing, she mentored her fellow patients, all of them much, much older than she, telling them what they could expect and giving them advice and comfort. A friend of Adrienne’s from school told Alison that Adrienne taught him more about life than anyone else he knew.

No one was ready to lose her.

There is a Hasidic teaching that “All the world is a very narrow bridge. The important thing is not to be afraid.” Adrienne embodied this teaching, and she will be sorely, deeply missed. In the Psalms, we read these words: “Hear my cry, O God, hear my prayer. From the end of the earth I call to You when my heart is faint. Lead me to a rock that is high above me...O, that I might dwell in Your tent forever, take refuge under Your protecting wings” (61:2-5). The psalm asks for shelter in a time of great pain. Lead me to a rock that is high above me. For just a moment, give me something solid to hold onto, when everything around me is in chaos. Lead me to a rock.

In a time of great pain, all we can do is try to be that rock for the people we love. To be steady and constant; to be with them and hold onto them when their hearts are faint. Today, as we say goodbye to Adrienne, we gather to pray, to give and receive comfort, and to hold on to one another.

Zichronah livrachah, may Adrienne’s memory be for a blessing.

The words of the 23rd Psalm:
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures,
leadeth me beside the still waters;
He restoreth my soul.
He guideth me in straight paths for His name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me;
Thy rod and thy staff—they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.
Thou hast anointed my head with oil;
my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

El Malei Rachamim (The Memorial Prayer):
God, full of compassion, eternal spirit of the universe,
grant perfect rest in your sheltering presence
to Adrienne Leigh Boardman who has entered eternity.
O God of mercy, let her find refuge in the shadow of Your wings,
and let her soul be bound up in the bond of everlasting life.
God is her inheritance. May she rest in peace.
And let us say: Amen.