R.I.P.

An old friend of mine died of cancer at the early age of 49. We'd become friends when our children were born within a few months of each other, and in the old days we spent many, many hours in one another's house. Various changes in circumstances, some very painful, meant that we lost our connection over the years and parted last year on acrimonious terms, for which I take full and abject responsibility.

Still, I often thought of her with affection and hoped that she'd eventually come through her storms, although the omens were not good. But she did not, and when I think of her I feel very sad and wished I'd been a better friend and had managed to hug that slight frame one last time.