I think since I started walking I danced. I cannot remember any time which I didn’t dance. So this is my life.
— Vija Vetra
Don’t stand at my grave and cry, because I am not there. I am the wind that touches your cheek. I am the rain that cools your forehead. I’m the colors in the rainbow that give you joy.
— Native American Poem that Vija wishes to have spoken at her burial.