what is lost

(Hearts by Angie Traverse)

Today is the 21st anniversary of the death of my friend Angie.

I’m thinking today about what is lost when a person dies at a younger-than-expected age. Angie was 54.

During one of her remissions, Angie and her spouse bought a second home on a lake that was special to their family. Angie told me she imagined grandchildren visiting there some day. I imagined visiting, perhaps with grandchildren of my own.

At the time, our children were tweens and teens.

Now, I have granddaughters, who are far away in London, UK.

I know that Angie’s children have children of their own, although I’m not sure how many or what their ages are. I imagine that they go visit the lake house sometimes. I imagine they tell stories about Angie so that her grandchildren have some inkling about who and how she was, even though she died long before they were born.

I imagine that there are still touches of Angie’s artistic and decorating skills on display.

I imagine that Angie’s spirit is still alive in her children.

Somehow.