She Was A Grand Lady (Part Four)

And that would be a fine place to end the story . . . but REAL stories (fictional or otherwise), don’t always give you that luxury.

Whether it was because of my Uncle’s death or not, I really don’t know, but none the less she became smaller after he died, both physically (which didn’t distress me) and in a far more intangible sense.  Mentally she remained sharp, and we could still discuss just about any topic you’d care to mention (and many that you likely wouldn’t), but . . . something . . . was missing.  All too quickly the conversation would just peter out, and we’d be struggling to find something to say next (as the one time we tried talking on the phone taught us both, I think). 

I can’t now any more quantify WHAT was missing from her than I could the first time I noticed it back then . . . A brash joy of living, perhaps? . . . I just knew, then as now, that whatever it was, it was something that I had learned from her, cherished in her, and suddenly it was gone.

And I missed it.

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