We know where she has gone even though we have forgotten the place from where we came.
In her final days she spoke to her brother, long since on the other side. Was she young and innocent again, free of the early sadness that stained her?
Every death is personal for those left behind. Our memories are unique, wholly our own. If there were more good times than bad, it will hurt. And if there were more bad times than good, it will hurt. Is that our challenge when they leave this life, to let go, to dwell upon the wins and not the losses?
Cherish the small moments that demonstrate a person’s uniqueness and love. I remember her in a sun-filled kitchen cooking biscuits, eggs and gravy in a cast iron frying pan. She woke up a day before she passed and asked for eggs and bacon. Was she remembering too?
She has returned to the place from where she came. She is young and innocent again, embraced by pure light and gracious love. We all return here and it is beautiful and sweet like a fresh dawn.