In Memory of Elizabeth Rivera

Morning weigh-in: 190#, 14.5% BF

I never knew her name; amongst ourselves we always referred to her as “Little One” because she was so small. Short, tiny even, and with a sweetly smiling, childlike (almost doll-like) face, though her voice had a rough edge and could be filled with anger. She was homeless, but she was always clean and well-dressed, and she was already a fixture when I moved to Bethlehem — sometimes you’d see her hanging in Wired Café, or passing through Brew Works to use the bathroom, or sitting at a little table she’d set up on Broad Street, selling handmade knick-knacks. Local vendors liked her and helped her out a bit.

She was hit by a car and killed crossing Broad Street this week. (Some more about her here and here.) So sad — it’s a tragedy no matter who was killed, but this just seems worse because I know who she was, and her life seemed so tough.

 


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