B. Last Saturday morning marked your time to go.
How it shocked us all.
You had pneumonia, but had waited too long to go to the hospital, and there was nothing that could be done to make you better.
You were The Craft Lady. You sold kits online that made people happy, as creative as they could possibly be. It helped so many forget their troubles. And it gave women and men alike something to do with children and grandkids. It is not easy growing up these days. And it is not easy growing older either.
Age is the amount of memories we have of each other. Otherwise, why does living count? I remember your laugh, how you loved to dress up at Christmas as Mrs. Claus. How Emma clapped her hands to see you ring the bell and walk down the main hallway as Santa's wife. You bought such joy to children.
There is a Celtic poem that has helped me in the past, and I hope, can bring a small amount of comfort to all of us who are feeling your loss.
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
I will miss you, my dear friend.
PHOTO OF BARBARA LA BRIE: Courtesy of Ms. Jo Soard. Thanks, Jo.