This Star Won't Go Out

We awake to an empty bed . . . and empty hearts. There is awfulness all around. We are sad. The weather is sad. Esther’s cats are sad. But Esther liked this kind of day. She liked most everything. Esther liked. We would stay doubled over but she would have us rise and receive the grace that is a new day. And Esther loved you all so much! She loved us, too. Esther loved. Thank you to everyone near and far, known or unknown to us. You helped to carry our light and life, gave her hours of joy and purpose. She will miss you and we will miss her banter with you. We’re not so up for calls and visits but appreciate your condolences, e-mails, texts and tweets . . . nerdfighteria: you are awesome! Remember: Awesomeness trumps awfulness every time. Death is not the final word but the “next great adventure” as Dumbledore said so well. Esther was never an unhappy lady. She was always happily up for adventure! In our hearts and exploring heaven; that’s where we’ll find her now.


Our Star was a welcomer. Didn’t matter who you were or what badge you did or didn’t wear, you were welcome to sit and visit in person or by computer with her. Esther welcomed. Whoever you are and wherever you may be, we welcome you, too, to join us as we remember and celebrate her brief, but glorious life.


With Affection,

Esther’s Family





“Carrying my heart.”

QUINCY, MASSACHUSETTS, 2010





We feel for each other in the dark

We speak in code

and no one’s sure how we made this work

but what do we do now?

We feel with each other through the dark Uncertain

of all things but the holes in our hearts and the hurt

and the loss and the disbelief and we know the same

things and we share such grief

I woke alone without the sun today

Found it strange that the day could change I woke

without the sun today



-BLAZE MITTEFF of Catitude, who wrote these lyrics in the days immediately following Esther’s passing




Three years and counting without Esther by my side, and yet she has possibly taught me more in these past years than she did during the eight years of our friendship. I could say that all of this surprises me—inspiring books as well as countless people and spreading so much love—but it truly does not. I cannot remember an instance that Esther showed negativity. She never sweated the little stuff, or expressed fear in an overdramatic way, and was always patient. I know she would not like to be called perfect, but if more people were like her, the world would be such a better place.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think of Esther Grace. I think about all the fun times we could be having and all the laughs we could be sharing. It’s frustrating that as time goes on more and more people won’t know the presence she had when she was alive. However, it warms my heart to be able to spread the love that she is all about. Hearing people say “I love you” or seeing the TSWGO bracelets on my friends’ and families’ wrists brings hope and assurance that no amount of time will be able to dim her light because after all . . . this star won’t go out.

—ALEXA LOWEY



Friends and princesses forever, with Alexa Lowey,

MEDWAY, MASSACHUSETTS, 2003




On August 24, when we heard Esther was in the hospital again and this time the doctors were not hopeful, Catitude came together in a way I’d never seen. We flocked to Skype, starting a group call that lasted at least twenty-four hours. The day was spent anxiously awaiting any type of news. Most people tried to grab a few hours of sleep, but Teryn and I couldn’t. I had signed up for text alerts on her CaringBridge journal, and when my phone went off at 2:00 a.m., I knew. Still, I went to the site and read the words I had been dreading all day.

I was frozen in place, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, shock and disbelief swirling around me. We still had the call open so I whispered Teryn’s name. Andrew Slack had made us promise to notify him immediately if we learned anything new, so I gave Teryn his phone number, feeling unable to speak any words, but especially not these. When I heard her crying, trying to articulate this ostensibly impossible event, I completely lost it. Shaking and sobbing, we gradually called everyone back to Skype. For several hours not much was said, we just needed to gather together and hear the sounds of grief, the proof that we weren’t in this alone.