Little Sylvia

She always preferred to be called Sylvie, as her mother had been. She was my father's cousin, they grew up together, and I was fortunate enough to spend time with both of them and to hear some of the stories from their childhood.

The chance to hear more of those stories, and to feel connected with my father by talking about him with his closest living relative closed when her God took her home last night. It was quick, and unexpected, and I hope she felt neither fear nor pain. I think she is 75, as my father would have been, and an inspiration to everyone as a caring, interested and lovely lady with a truly wicked sense of humour and unstoppable sense of fun.

I am glad we went to the island in May, although we didn't see each other often, I will miss her terribly. My loss is insignificant in comparison to the pain her husband and children must be feeling. God grant her, and them, peace.