Miriam's Art Work & Mimento

Miriam turned even the simplest gesture of sending a greeting card into something special,
always taking the time to make individual cards for everyone. Before her death she had hoped
to start her own business, Mimento, producing handmade cards. Her family have taken up this
idea and hope to develop it further. For more information please visit:


All proceeds from the sale of the cards will be donated to the Miriam Hyman Memorial Fund
which is currently supporting the work of ORBIS UK (Charity No. 1061352), a charity which
aims at eliminating avoidable blindness globally, helping people to see clearly again.

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Poem about Miriam

By Lucy Goldsmith
A tribute to Miriam Hyman,
an indescribable, inimitable
friend of humanity. Without
her the world is deprived.
In the land of the midnight sun,
There is at times midday darkness,
In this place here it is dusk, half-light,
Emotions either up or down,
Rarely balanced,
Normality and understanding, foreign times,
Desired yet rejected, embraced yet shunned.

What is to be said of a friend who’s died?
A neighbour, lost from your side?
A beautiful woman, your love for who shall never subside,
Who in a world of boundaries and restrictions,
Remained unique and creative, subservient to no-one,
Because anything that anyone could ask to be done,
She need not be asked to do,
Because anything anyone needed done,
She would have offered to do.

A free spirit,
Very much her own person,
Although remaining loyal and attentive,
Whose smile was always genuine,
And whose all-encompassing laughter could brighten the darkest of days,
Her name inextricably linked with the well-being,
Of anyone she might meet,
Or even those she might never meet.

They are the unlucky ones,
Because even those who barely knew her,
Were so deeply touched by her,
That they somehow knew her,
And she would have known them,
No detail of their life a fragment too small to matter,
Miriam was inquisitive,
But she cared about everyone,
Had a desire to understand and help them.

In this way,
She could never be blinded by prejudice

She may have enjoyed,
But bias and rash judgement,
Would not really touch her,
She was above that,
Unassuming, modest, but never afraid to express her own mind.

Oh how she and her memory,
Are loved and respected,
Her loss so widely mourned,
While her too short life celebrated

In her passing,
Not only a dear friend and neighbour has departed,
But a vital, irreplaceable part of my being is denied,
Miriam signified something I could not put my finger on,
Could ne’er put into words.

And yet in these recent days,
I have acquired so much,
Continuing to realise what she continues to edify,
And an increased intimacy with those others left behind,
But she will never really have left our side,
In a very real way she is now consistently and tirelessly,
Simultaneously, with a great multitude of people,
A blessing to all of us,
And a capability I’m sure she would have embraced in life.

Personne pourrait dire,
Pour quel raison elle était enlevée de nous,
Le motif de ceux qui lui ont volé,
Ne pourrait jamais être expliqué,
Pourtant, il y a des choses,
Lesquels ils ne pourraient jamais enrayer,
Les souvenirs, l’amour, les leçons immortels.

Words could never say how much I miss her,
Could ne’er express the lamentation of her idiosyncrasy,
All she had to do was simply be there,
Her mere presence so precious,
Its meaning indefinable,
The love she embodied inconceivable.

The void she leaves unfathomable

Where there should be anger and pain,
There is only love, longing and pain,
Because aggressive catharsis,
Was not in her nature,
And her gentle yet penetrating influence,
Will not allow it,
Be this impossibly hard,
It is at least something,
I can begin to explain.
Lucy Goldsmith


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