Home from work, for what was supposed to be a mini-vacation. Instead, one of my closest and dearest, though estranged, friends has died. Thanks to a severe storm system sweeping the Midwest, and my own fears about not being welcome at the funeral, I am still hundreds of miles away, sitting on this couch, crying because I've ransacked the place and can't find my favorite picture of her. Spring, summer, I have to survive the winter so I can drive back and visit her grave. Leota, you were loved. I wish I could have loved you enough for the both of us, to keep you steady and upright in your dark times. People keep telling me to feel better. "Wouldn't she want you to be happy she's not hurting any more?" Right, because the worst that could happen has already happened. She can't get any more dead. Please, just let me grieve.