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Monday, August 30, 2004


She knocked on the door. Since when does she not walk in to my place? Holding an envelope and a card, she was wiping tears off her cheeks when I opened the door. "Wha...Who...Sweetie what happened?" I was flabbergasted. I handled with grace the insecurity of what to do when her uncle died, advising her on how to politely accept the difficult to reply to "I'm sorry" which follows one around at funerals. I held her hand the night that she told our friend about his girlfriend's infidelities. I wasn't prepared for this.

"Sh...She..." drowned out by sniffles and guffaws that come with sobbing, it took some time before she continued. "She sent me this." Suddenly, an envelope and card were in my grasp. Scanning, I didn't understand. I didn't get it. She'd just come back from her grandma's funeral. It couldn't be another death in the family. That's just cruel.

"It's from my grandma. An...And..."

"It's okay, just breathe for a minute." I said as I led her to a chair at the kitchen table.

She sat down, waterworks abating.

"She thought I could use it. But what am I supposed to do with that money?" A blank, confused look overshadowed her expression.

And all I could say, in my most quiet, but still audible voice was, "Well, do what you can do, what you want to do. But whatever you do with it, remember her when you do use it."

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