The story goes that Margaret Schwarzkopf, a young German Jewish woman, was staying with Mary Frye and her husband in Baltimore in 1932 when Margaret's mother died in Germany. Due to increasing political unrest at home, the young woman had been unable to see her mother during her illness and was distressed that she would not be able to “stand by [her] mother’s grave and shed a tear,” as she told her hostess. Frye, who had never written a poem, found herself composing verse on a brown paper shopping bag. Later Frye said that the words to the poem “just came to her” and expressed what she felt about life and death. She circulated the poem privately, never publishing or copyrighting it, and while she continued to write poetry it was this one, her first, that endured.*
To me, Memorial Day, which we celebrate on Monday, May 26 in 2014, is a day to honor not just the war dead, but all those we have loved and lost. Frye's poem, below, has comforted me and many others, and will continue to do so. The body dies, but the spirit lives on...
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