Even if just a quarter

I'm not good when it comes to death. I know it's a bizarre statement, but I will wholeheartedly admit this. When it comes around, things become awkward, and strange and I will walk on eggshells around you because I'm scared of saying the wrong things. And then if you cry it breaks my heart, so instinctively I will cry too. And then I will feed you lines, lines of the poets, telling you all of the things that you are supposed to hear. Things of beauty where they are, stories of solace and peace and utter happiness. But you know this. And I know this. And even if we both know how sorry I am, I will say it a hundred times. Because I am. Because I am sorry that you hurt, and more sorry that not a single thing I do will fix it, this is true. I am sorry. I am. Because when you hurt, I do too. This is what happens in friendships, in life, in relationships. You become emotionally attached to one another and your pain becomes tenfold as you share in theirs and in everyone else's around you.

I had a point somewhere. Josephine's aunt passed away this week-- and because she's so far away I can't squeeze her to pieces to make sure she knows I love her & that I'm sorry and that if it were up to me, I would pluck her aunt out from heaven and send her to England, for an afternoon tea, even if just for an hour. I didn't have the pleasure of meeting her, but my point is this, that if she is even a quarter of the woman her neice's are, then I'm sure she will be terribly missed.

Keep your chin up, your soul strong and your spirit positive. She's at rest, and in peace nonetheless.