As I write this to you now, I am lying in bed and my room is dim. The doctor came not too long ago, and he took a sample of my blood. Did I ever mention how much I absolutely hate needles? Some things will always hurt, no matter how much you get used to them.

That’s how I feel about your death. I can’t get over it, even though it’s been years. Well, at least I’m not the only dweller. My father is still sad about it also. Well, I guess no matter how much of a coward he is, I still can’t blame him. After all, you were his first and only love who brightened his world. He was your husband longer than I was your son, so maybe he has a greater right to mourn than I do.

No, that’s not a fair way to look at it. I remember how you told me that when you were a little girl, you had a kitty that you loved dearly. When she died, you were very sad, but eventually you were able to recall all of the happy memories of her.