I've known M for about 20 years - although not very well. So that not having seen her for years was not unusual. I can't remember how or why we met, or how we made any kind of connection: mutual acquaintances possibly, or just random.
She was around my age group, and I knew that she was an adopted child of a family with some social prominence.
"I was cherished," she said. "Cherished". A wonderful childhood memory.
She was warm and chatty and artistic: 2 items together were 2 items together, she said: but 3 created a whole different entity. Puting 3 together, you needed to watch what you were creating. She painted pleasant and skilled watercolours.
I don't think she would have known anything of my background, because she liked to talk, not question, and she liked to socialise in groups, (which I don't). She visited me here, and was always welcome to visit me here: but that hadn't happened for a long time.
Her adult life, I gather, had not really been very happy. Her husband was not simpatico, and she clung to the social group that she felt she belonged to - and why not? - altho her husband didn't fit in, and finances made this increasingly desperate in the decades since her husband's death. This from others, not from her.
I asked a mutual friend about her a month or 2 ago, and she said that she had moved to some kind of seniors' centre.
Today, in the online newspaper, there is notice of her funeral.
My particular dilemna is that I have a copy of Khalil Gibran that M lent me.
It had been given to her by her beloved daughter, who committed suicide as a very young woman/girl.
What do I do with it?