I lost Dorothy Mae this year

Dorrothy Mae was an incredibly vibrant and dear partner on my dog walks. Every morning or afternoon, when I walked the dogs I would pass her house and she would be out walking as well. She wore a white sun hat (big) and white chandelier earrings (long) and had an 80 lb frame only 5 ft tall. She talked and talked about the day, not so much about her life. It was the sun, it was the wind, it was the cold it was the dark, but her life was not nearly as important to her beyond that moment.

One day I was walking my dog and I saw 5 cars in front of her house, I knew something was wrong... and I had felt it coming for a few weeks. A week went by before I finally cornered a relative in his car, napping, and I asked him "is everything OK with Dorothy?" and he said "No, we don't expect her to make it." I knew that none of her family knew me, but I knew her...  But I also knew, this was a private time - one delegated to family members, not casual aquaintences, but OH, I wanted to be there - I wanted to hug her and thank her and embelish on those small moments, walking the dogs, that were ours. I wanted to share with her how her white hat and white earrings always brought out beauty in her. She knew they did, and that's why she wore them. I wanted to remind her of that - I wanted to give her a hug, goodbye. I wasn't invited, there for I didn't, but I wont make the same mistake with Wanda.

She lives across the street from Dorothy Mae. She heard what happened but is suffering from dementia and forgets things. But she now walks with me and the dogs. And she knows she's the next one to go on the street. She said to me, as I walked her back up her driveway, "I''m going to see my husband again - it won't be like this, but it will be better. We'll all be happy again."  And I know she's right, and I want to give her that hug before she goes, and I want to ask her to look up my grandparents, my father, my friends and my aquaintences, and let them know, I too am coming. Maybe not this year, maybe not this decade, but I'm coming...