“There aren’t any good words for something like that,” said Joan. “Elegy, lament, dirge…they’re nothing but blackness without a hint of the life that ought to be celebrated in memorial.”

“What about ‘threnody?'” said Austin.

“Not familiar with that one,” Joan said. “What is it?”

“A song or poem composed as a memorial. It’s the same idea as a dirge or an ode, but with emphasis not on the sadness but the memory. A subtle distinction, perhaps, but crucial.”

“Threnody…” Joan murmured, as if turning the word over in her mouth to get its taste. “I like the sound of that.”

“I thought you might,” Austin said. He passed a sheaf of music to Joan. “Here. A threnody for Olivia.”