In kindergarten, you showed me my cubby hole and let me sit with you when I had no friends. As children, you played with me when I had no friends. You shared your painful life and we were happy as friends. Growing up, we learned a lot together. I can't even list all of the firsts we had together. You pushed threw and defeated so many odds. You didn't give in to what happened around you. And now you've died of the same evil that your fought so hard to avoid. And now I miss you even though I wasn't there. And what kind of friend am I now that you are gone? How do I carry your spirit that came from another world into mine while you go to another? Seeds will sprout. Flowers will grow. Lawns will turn green. Books will be read. Children will play together in closets. And it will happen with you watching.

Left on a grey Sunday from your childhood friend, Bridget Eaton

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