She had been in my life since I was born.
She was ninety, still living in the house she shared with her husband, my Uncle Cyril, until he died last year.
She had no children - living at a time when women had to make defined choices about careers and families, she chose to be a school teacher, then a headmistress at an elite girls boarding school, not marrying until she was thirty, almost unheard of back then.
Post mortem today, to determine whether she fell down the stairs then had a stroke or the other way around. As she didn't press her alarm, it's likely she was unconscious and "didn't know anything about it".
She loved this, I know it brought her comfort after Cyril died.
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~