The Remembrance Project
Lives of those among us.
People read obituaries avidly. Alongside the famous deaths in the newspapers, there are the small print columns about the equally loved but lesser-known. Ordinary people who have lived extraordinary lives. Elissa Ely reads between the lines, finding men and women around New England whose stories should not go untold – the lives of those among us.
Few people can be quiet and charismatic at the same time. Evy Rosenblum riveted an audience by speaking softly and focusing utterly — whether it was on a large group or a small grandchild.
Gracie James loved storytelling, and the journal writing began in second grade, even before she could spell. Her journals kept her company — more accurately, she kept herself company in them — and she filled them for the rest of her short life.
At the small bed and breakfast that Mary Stevenson and her husband ran, their kitchen table might seat a couple of tourists, a woman whose husband had threatened her with a shotgun, and a refugee family from El Salvador.
As a professional guide, Eitan Green had summitted Mount Rainier over 40 times — always learning it, always studying it. Dreams of climbing began the day he rappelled with an eight-year-old’s determination down a small cliff in Northern Maine.
The formative experience of Martin Howard’s life was the one he never, ever discussed. Once a man has survived World War II, what’s left that could distress him?
Dr. Harriet Berman was a psychologist who counseled patients with cancer, and, ultimately, a psychologist who died of cancer. But she never accepted the idea that disease was a war.
One bitterly cold Boston night, Michael Reynolds confessed to the street team doctor that his feet were bothering him. The frostbite was so severe that one foot required amputation.
Francis Tenny translated intercepted radio transmissions about enemy locations during World War II. “We sank that ship,” he’d say, recognizing a name in the news a few days later.
Madeline Barnes taught nursing theory and practice for 50 years, in schools across Massachusetts. If a student enrolled between 1960 and 2010, it’s almost certain Madeline trained her.
Carol Hiltunen was a natural introvert raised in the midst of a crowd—nine children, including sets of twins and triplets. She found escape from the chaos when she joined a convent.
James Ulwick would pull the kids from school and drive down to Cape Canaveral, so they could watch him direct rocket launches. Usually they drove with a cooler and a Coleman stove in their station wagon. Once they drove with a rocket cone.
Three weeks after her ALS diagnosis, Holly Ladd had already reviewed the prognostic literature, and, in her lawyerly fashion, constructed her advanced directive with clear limits. Over the next two years, she pushed those limits back again and again.
When she was 31, Cecilia Quiros left Colombia for the U.S. with her eight-year-old, a suitcase, and a bouquet of flowers. She treasured motherhood, but not traditional marriage.
Skip Warren was a dancer, a choreographer, a playwright, a set designer and home remodeler, an HIV survivor, a lymphoma patient, and, in two exuberant words, an artistic gypsy.
Seth Boyd, known in the hip-hop world as Cadence, surprised listeners with his gentle, pacifist raps. “I keep my eyes open so my mind doesn’t decay,” one lyric went. “I want a room with a view for the remains of the day.”