We think of her often, with love and regret that she is gone. She lived for nineteen years and four months and we just couldn't imagine, despite all the difficulties related to her blindness and her mental confusion, that there would come a time when she would be gone. It is almost a year when on a Friday 13th she suffered a dreadful stroke that would result, the following day, in her death.

So when we think of her, and that is often, we usually recall what it was like, having her with us, how much of our lives she shared with us. And when we speak of those times we speak of our recollection of how she fits into those memories.

She was so much an important part of all our activities, our plans, our lifestyle. It seems as though we will never cease feeling our pangs of regret at her passing. The quality of our lives have been diminished to some undefinable degree in her absence. She lives in our memories.

And she lives on in the photographs that we have of her in her youth and in her declining years and in those long stretches of years between when we shared adventures and the best moments of our lives together.