For My Lovely Friend

[I have more tales from our vacation, but those will wait a day. This is more important.]

While I was away, a wonderful person breathed her last. She was a faithful reader of mine. I was the same, of her.

Moannie, as we all knew her, passed on Monday, October 8th, at age 78. She was last able to write to us, without aid, on August 14th. Since that time, her wonderful daughter, Saz, took over the correspondence. It was from her that we heard of her Mum's death.

Molly Anne Fabre was a writer of some considerable talent. If this is the first you're hearing of her, I urge you to go back into her archives, prior to the onset of her final illness, and read a few of her tales. I especially recommend those concerning her childhood. One that comes readily to mind now is entitled A Christmas Story. If you can read that one without a small bit of moisture coming to your eyes, you are a mean and callow sort. What sets it apart from the sort of melodramatic piffle that others might write is that Moannie kept a sense of humour about the whole thing. She manages to combine a bit of a laugh with a rather sad tale. That's not easy, but she did it.

All of her stuff is worth a look, but please allow me to direct you to one more that particularly tickled me:

The Prune One

It is not easy to laugh at the moment, but I can't help it when reading that story.

She had a rough go over the last few months - cancer will do that to you, I guess - but her spirit never seemed to diminish considerably. Obviously, I am not family. I never actually met the woman in person. I only knew her via our shared stories on blogs and via some e-mail correspondence. However, she never betrayed a lack of spirit in her writings, and showed considerable fight, too. I was proud of her for that. I would like to think I'll be able to do the same someday.

I do truly consider her a friend and I am heartbroken that we shall never meet in this life. I tend to think that, somehow or some way, I'll meet everybody who regularly reads me or whose stuff I regularly read. Not tremendously realistic, I suppose, but I would have loved to have met Moannie and shared a meal. As a Christian, it is my belief that we will, someday, have a chance to do so, but I hate being denied that possible pleasure until my own eternity sets in.

I would say, "God bless you, Moannie", but I have no doubt He is doing so even as I write this, so God bless US.

No. For that matter, forget that "God bless US" stuff, too. He already did that when he gave us you.