Gail DiBernardo

Dear Gail, You've been gone for so many years. And yet, you are still in my heart every day. I'm old now -- 76 years. After years of being a professor emerita, a psychologist, a researcher, I am beginning my new career as a psychologist specializing in arts-assisted grief therapy. I bought a house in Cape Cod, Massachusetts, but I've decided to stay in Missouri. Soon I will be going to Iceland. Webster had a campus there, and so I have been to Iceland many times. Iceland is the oldest,...

Remembering Gail's strength of character and unwavering humility is the antidote to the relentless chaos of todays world both near and far. Thank you Gail for being that well from which we can drink the waters of grace and peace in a very unsettling time.

December 30, 2024 My best friend Gail died on February 11 of 2014. She was my best friend, but I was not her best friend. It is more than ten years since her passing. In some ways, she is still here. This morning I am reading a book she gave me, A Gift of Hope: How We Survive our Tragedies. (Veninga, 1985). This book does not sugarcoat anything. "Making peace with ourselves isn´t easy. But those who survive a tragedy have discovered an important lesson: It does little good to punish...

The entries in Gail's book are well written and have stood the test of time. How fortunate we are to have known her! It is from this well of her kind and humble spirit that I find hope for a world free of angst and chaos. Thank you, Gail, and to each of her family and friends for keeping that spirit present in our lives.

Gail, Today I am thinking about all of our predawn runs with our dogs - you with Sam and me with Grete. These days I run with my puppy Bellissima. I know you would like that she has an Italian name. love, debbie

February 15, 2023 Dear Gail, I'm sorry I didn't write last year. You are always in my heart. My dog Starlight died. I cried for three weeks and then I rescued a new dog that I named Bellissima (Italian for most beautiful). My front yard is purple with all the blooming crocus. I should be happy, but I'm filled with fear. Right now - at this moment - I will change my attitude and be grateful that I am still alive. I am still here on the planet earth. Now I will take a break from work and go...

February 15, 2021, Dear Gail, You are always in my heart. This year I dedicated February 11, 2021 to you. I am still a professor, still a psychologist, still a runner, and still a human rights fellow. In St. Louis it is below zero (wind chill). I got up early, said my prayers, fed the birds, and went running with my dog Starlight. (I know you would want me to do those things). In the evening I taught my course, Children, Trauma, and Crisis Intervention; I talked about you briefly.

To: Gail

From: Debbie

Every day I remember you through something you did or said or wrote; you are omnipresent.

I begin so many mornings as you and I did years ago going for pre-dawn runs with our dog(s). Running before the sun rises is magical and the reason that I have named my dogs Starlight, Orion, and Moonlight.

You live on in all our hearts, but also in your writings and on the internet. On the web I can still find the Brier Wildlife...

Referring to a dream she had after her father's death, Gail wrote, “I don't like placing too much emphasis on the afterlife because I think it can keep us from cherishing our home on Earth. But I was glad to see Dad walking in a sparkling, sunlit field alongside a peaceful body of water; and to see trotting beside him a beautiful, youthful Sammy.” I like to imagine Gail and her father in that sunlit field now, off on a new adventure with Sam.
Gail was a "born" story teller and natural...