Aunt Mamie

Life — so fleeting, so cruelly brief — grants no promise of its span. Some are blessed with a century’s breath, others stolen in but half that time. We are each given but one vessel — mind, body, and soul — and what we choose to do with our hours becomes the scripture of our existence.

Each passing, each departure, carves deeper the truth of impermanence. Yet in this vast world of eight billion souls, where chance itself governs encounter, somehow our paths entwined — a miracle against eternity’s odds.

Nearly five years past, when the world trembled beneath plague and fear, you slipped from life’s fragile grasp and into death’s eternal shadow. If words could reach beyond that veil, I would confess this: I am undone without your light. You were a mirror to my being — reflecting strength, gentleness, and grace. You understood, far beyond most, the quiet sanctity of kindness.

Your absence has hollowed me. A fragment of my soul lies buried with you, beyond all mending. I have cursed Death for its cruelty — for stealing your hours and leaving me with mine. For each day since feels not like life, but a purgatory between memory and loss.