Joyce, again
My friend Joyce died in her sleep seven years ago today. She had been a resident at the seniors' residence where my mother also resided. In fact Joyce sat for meals at the same table as my mother, and that is how we met. Joyce was in her late seventies, was a life-long spinster, had a taste for Scotch, and was still sexually alive in a place where there were few men and many other elderly women, most of whom were more dead than alive. We met and a gleam come into her eyes. From then on until she died she took a renewed interest in life, with particular interest in getting me into her bed.
I didn't know any more about her than she was willing to divulge, but somehow, we became quite close. Joyce counted me as one of her few friends. I grieved for her after she died, not only because we had been friends in life but because she wanted me so badly at a time when I felt alone and unwanted. After Joyce died I had a sense of continued relationship with her. This sense of presence has continued to this day, and it gives me reassurance that the death of the body is not the end of life. Even after seven years I still feel that Joyce is nearby and she can see and hear me, and that she is ready to help me as a friend whenever I need.
Current music; William Orbit - Adagio For Strings (see here - http://youtu.be/TmJLhyBCGI4 )