Dear Diane,

You insisted on being called by your first name. You were a light. You were the brightest and most consistent part of my morning. The pride in your face when you eventually gave me your cane because “I don’t need it anymore”, will make me cry if I focus too hard on the memory.

Diane. I don’t have the traditional obit facts about you. Not because I didn’t care. Not because we didn’t talk. We just…we focused on here and now when we did. Focused on your morning, your pain level, your increased mobility and your conquering of the Microsoft Excel. We talked at length about the importance of reducing sugar and getting my mother ‘off of’ Diet Coke.

Sunday, July 19th, we gathered to say good-bye. I’ll be clear Diane, I did not want to go to your beautiful church and hear your pastor talk about you. I didn’t want to make small talk with your neighbors after the service. I only really went as moral support for my colleagues. I helped organize the repast and really felt like I could just hide in the kitchen. I told people I was too mean, introverted and awkward to go to your service. This was easier than being honest.

I’m not great with my own emotions. I don’t view them as a weakness, just…it’s sometimes fun to pretend I’m an unfeeling robot and when the real world comes knocking, that game is harder. I’m also an adult who loved you so I went. Still for about 20 minutes, I persisted in the robot game. I sat in that pew physically shaking off tears until someone talked about how important your job with us was to you. I lost my dumb fight then and cried the rest of the service. I cried while I spoke about you, I cried while I laughed at stories about you, I cried when I looked at your granddaughter. I am low-key crying while I write this.

You deserve those tears Diane. You deserve someone who isn’t going to spend the day burying themselves in tasks so she doesn’t have to confront the fact this was your official send off. Every “I love you”, “I’ll miss you” and “You need anything? You sure?”, you deserved.

So, this letter is for you Diane. You won’t read it but I hope you already knew the point of it. You were a blessing. You were appreciated. You had the best laugh. Mostly importantly, the care you put out was returned. You were loved every day Diane and I pray you felt it.