ForeverMissed
This website was created in honor of Anita and Marlan Shalley, of blessed memory, who were married for 62 years and passed away within two months of each other in 2020. 

Marlan was born on August 17, 1929, in Brooklyn, NY, where he spent the entirety of his childhood, including the war years. His father and grandparents were all immigrants (from Russia and Poland). Marlan worked in his family's international shipping business for many years, and was a devotee of meditation, a practice he discovered at a very young age. He also was an avid reader of biography, history, and other non-fiction (and the occasional great novel.)

Anita was born in London on September 26, 1930. As a child, she was evacuated from London, like most children, to be kept safe from the German blitz.  She lived in several different homes, away from her parents, for the bulk of the war. Her father fought in the British army, while her mother lived with her grandparents after their family home in London was destroyed by a bomb. After the war, Anita acted on the stage at the Unity Theater in London, receiving kudos from many, including Sir Richard Attenborough. She later moved to Paris with her friends and worked for NATO, before traveling to NYC, where she met Marlan.

They met and married in NYC in 1958, and moved to London, Anita's home, for the first years of their marriage. Their son, Perry, was born there. They moved back to NYC shortly before their daughter, Eve, was born.  It was around that time that Marlan joined his brother Selwyn's shipping business in Manhattan. They lived in NY until 1981, when they moved to South Florida. It was then that Anita started an incredibly successful career as a fundraiser for South Palm Beach County Jewish Federation. Her work touched the lives of thousands, all over the world. Anita was devoted to Jewish causes, and to helping those in-need, and she brought to bear all her talents and skills in her role as Women's Division Director.

Anita and Marlan continued to live in their home in South Florida after they both retired. Anita was a wonderful cook, and hosted many dinner parties. Like Marlan, she was an avid reader, loving novels, mysteries, and spy thrillers, and was proud she could finish the NY Times Sunday crossword every week, even in her last days. Marlan and Anita were also foodies, who tried every good restaurant in NYC and South Florida.

Anita and Marlan are survived by their son, Perry, daughter, Eve, daughter-in-law, Alexandra, son-in-law, Yoav, and their grandchildren, Sarah and Matthew, both of whom they adored.
Posted by Susan Nonemaker-Cox on June 6, 2020
Our sincerest condolences in the passing of Anita And Marlan. It is so special being able to hear and see more about your amazing journeys/stories (which are a series of novels in themselves), and so many traits and hobbies that you've clearly passed onto your children. May your spirits continue to shine bright, and may your gifts be treasured by your family forever. Thinking of you all and sending you love and light. Susan & Justin
Posted by Michael Connor on May 27, 2020
My dearest cousin: Anne and I will miss your wise words, great humour and deep loving friendship. Such a shame 3,200 miles separated us but not the iron ties that bound two people for so many good years

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Posted by Susan Nonemaker-Cox on June 6, 2020
Our sincerest condolences in the passing of Anita And Marlan. It is so special being able to hear and see more about your amazing journeys/stories (which are a series of novels in themselves), and so many traits and hobbies that you've clearly passed onto your children. May your spirits continue to shine bright, and may your gifts be treasured by your family forever. Thinking of you all and sending you love and light. Susan & Justin
Posted by Michael Connor on May 27, 2020
My dearest cousin: Anne and I will miss your wise words, great humour and deep loving friendship. Such a shame 3,200 miles separated us but not the iron ties that bound two people for so many good years
Recent stories

Perfection Wasted, by John Updike

Shared by Eve Shalley on June 4, 2020
And another regrettable thing about death
is the ceasing of your own brand of magic,
which took a whole life to develop and market —
the quips, the witticisms, the slant
adjusted to a few, those loved ones nearest
the lip of the stage, their soft faces blanched
in the footlight glow, their laughter close to tears,
their tears confused with their diamond earrings,
their warm pooled breath in and out with your heartbeat,
their response and your performance twinned.
The jokes over the phone. The memories packed
in the rapid-access file. The whole act.
Who will do it again? That's it: no one;
imitators and descendants aren't the same.
---
Thank you for sharing this with me, Eva Kosta

When a Good Mother Sails from this World, by Clarissa Pinola Estes

Shared by Eve Shalley on June 4, 2020
When I say, ‘My mother has died’,
I mean my ‘most beloved’.

Leave me to myself now,
for I am a ship who’s
lost her riggings;
suddenly
come unmoored.

My mother has died;
She has earned her rest now,
waiting only, and proudly so,
for her sails
to be taken down.

I, the daughter,
see to the mending of my mother’s sails;
I seek her
worn and broken
threads of light,
reweaving her dazzling linen.

And though there be broken threads
not able to be rewoven,
I will gently pull the edges together
and stitch one side to the other…
and if not able to be mended,
then I will patch with parts
from my own most earnest life
over the places where my mother’s life
was worn through,
. . . or never was.

Over time, the sails of the mothership
will be fitted to the daughtership;
raised up on the mainsail,
and the final touch –
the red ragged flag – hers –
will be flying topmast of my ship.

I’ll be let down into the waters then,
I, the daughter, will glide again…
but this time, under the best sails
inherited from my mother…
and all the mothers of the motherlines
before her.

Ay, Mother, let me tell you
my treasured dearie-dear,
one last thing I have learned
from your spirit passing through me
as sparkling shadow passes
through darkening shadow,
on this open night-sea journey…

I am learning to navigate
by the mysteries of the farthest stars –
the ones that the great wake of your passing
has revealed to me
for the very first time.
----
Thank you for sharing this with me, Sandra Mitchell

On the Beach at Night, by Walt Whitman

Shared by Eve Shalley on May 26, 2020
On the beach at night,
Stands a child with her father,
Watching the east, the autumn sky.

Up through the darkness, 
While ravening clouds, the burial clouds, in black masses spreading,
Lower sullen and fast athwart and down the sky,
Amid a transparent clear belt of ether yet left in the east,
Ascends large and calm the lord-star Jupiter,
And nigh at hand, only a very little above,
Swim the delicate sisters the Pleiades.
From the beach the child holding the hand of her father,
Those burial-clouds that lower victorious soon to devour all,
Watching, silently weeps.
Weep not, child,
Weep not, my darling,
With these kisses let me remove your tears,
The ravening clouds shall not long be victorious,
They shall not long possess the sky, they devour the stars only in apparition,
Jupiter shall emerge, be patient, watch again another night, the Pleiades shall emerge,
They are immortal, all those stars both silvery and golden shall shine out again,
The great stars and the little ones shall shine out again, they endure,
The vast immortal suns and the long-enduring pensive moons shall again shine.
Then dearest child mournest thou only for Jupiter?
Considerest thou alone the burial of the stars?
Something there is,
(With my lips soothing thee, adding I whisper,
I give thee the first suggestion, the problem and indirection,)
Something there is more immortal even than the stars,
(Many the burials, many the days and nights, passing away,)
Something that shall endure longer even than lustrous Jupiter
Longer than sun or any revolving satellite,
Or the radiant sisters the Pleiades.