Obituary

I wrote up an obituary for a friend today. She was my next door neighbor too. Over the last four years I grew quite attached to her. She had a son with mental illness and when my anxiety or craziness was acting up she knew just the words for me, and just the way to say them that just made it all stop dead in its tracks. She was so smart. And her humor and realness were so wonderful. She was one of the most real people I'd ever met.

I'm poor, I have very little money. On Christmas she spent her own money (and she made $8.00 per hour) to buy my daughter gifts, and she got us a tree every year. She cared about people. Not just me, or my daughter, but she cared about everyone.

I keep thinking that I need to pour an extra cup of coffee, black, to take to her so we can have our morning coffee. And then I was tasked this morning with the obituary. The word itself "obituary" made my stomach hurt.

I know death is a reality of life, suffering is a foundation of Buddhist understanding. But it doesn't always make it hurt less. I miss Anna a lot, every day.