This is for Louise, my creative writing teacher who died of cancer last week.
I do not wish for her to rest in peace. She would be singularly unimpressed by peace and la la angels.
I wish for her to be in the great wine bar in the sky, drinking caberent sauvignon, scoffing brie and biscuits and carrying on, at length, with relevant quotations, as to why Cormac McCarthy was the greatest writer alive.
This is for her emotional generosity and the encouragement that helped me keep writing through a dark time.
This is for her irreverant sense of humour that not everyone understood (I often had to stifle my sniggering behind my hand at a particularly witty bon mot while others looked bemused).
I don't pity her death. She would hate that and give me the verbal equivalent of a clip around the ear. I (with many, many others) am grateful for her life.
All we have are our relationships and memories. All else turns to dust.