Elizabeth London Aven traded pain for stardust. This space is for dancing, remembering, and loving her exactly as she was: radiant, silly, soulful, and strong. Come celebrate a life that still sparkles in the sky.
A Pardon in Ink
My name is David Craig Potts, but growing up, my family always…
The Day I Became a Big Brother
I remember the day Elizabeth was born. I was six years old,…
When You’re Seen In The Dark
-Marianne J I never met Elizabeth in person, but I felt like…
Elizabeth London Aven
January 24, 1978– December 24, 2024
“I’ll see you in the stars.”
Elizabeth London Aven passed peacefully from this world in December of 2024, releasing her spirit from a body long burdened by pain. She chose her time with clarity and grace, surrounded by love in all its invisible forms. Her departure was her final act of self-honor—one of autonomy, courage, and liberation.
Elizabeth did not die because she gave up. She died because she held on for so long.
For years, she lived with Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (M.E.), Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, dysautonomia, and recurrent kidney infections—illnesses that disrupted every system in her body and yet never managed to extinguish her light. She endured with resilience, always finding ways to inspire others even as her own energy faded. Her body failed her; her spirit never did.
She was not a tragedy. She was a comet.
She did not collapse. She RADIATED.
Elizabeth was a master of joy. A creative soul with a sly sense of humor, a deep well of kindness, and an unparalleled meme game. She loved 80s music, silly conversations, spiritual mysteries, and kittens. She had a gift for making people feel seen, even across vast distances. Online or in person, she wrapped her friends in gentleness and truth.
Her words changed lives. Many credit her with saving them—from despair, from hopelessness, from pain. Her ability to believe in others, even when she herself was struggling, was nothing short of miraculous.
To her community of fellow chronic illness warriors, she was a lighthouse in the fog—never pretending the storm wasn’t real, but always insisting that even in the dark, we can still dance.
Above all, she adored her mother, Melanie. In her own words:
“The person who made this whole universe especially wonderful to be in is my mom… an angel that walks earth-side.”
Elizabeth leaves behind countless people whose lives she touched with tenderness and wit: dear friends across time zones, soul siblings she never met in person, fellow seekers, stargazers, artists, advocates, and those who found in her a kindred spirit.
In her final message, Elizabeth asked us to “have fun, get silly, nap, play, and spend time with those you love.” She reminded us that the little things are not so little. That laughter is sacred. That joy is resistance.
So in her memory, dance to that song. Send that meme. Nap like it’s a prayer. And most of all—look up. She promised to meet us in the stars.
Elizabeth, you made this worthwhile. We love you forever and ever and ever.
