In the mail this weekend, a letter from the sister of my friend in NYC who had a stroke and went missing. She did indeed die.
I felt it in my bones that Sharon was dead. It’s odd how you can feel something so strongly, even without any proof, and find out later your instincts were right. If Sharon were alive, even compromised, she would be in touch with me. No way she’d remove the message from her answering machine. No way she wouldn’t text me back.
Come to find out that Sharon died a couple of months ago and the daughter was so distraught and unable to cope, she left mounds of unopened mail in the front hall, my letters included, saying please Sharon, if you can’t communicate, have your daughter call me. When I never heard back from snail mail, I told myself Sharon was gone.
I can’t quite wrap my head around Sharon being dead. She had a second massive stroke and the doctors were not able to save her. The sister suggested I call her today, to gab. I will. I can’t imagine what the daughter is dealing with. As I told you, Sharon was a single mother, raised a fabulous young woman but the two were very dependent on each other as they only had each other. Maybe too much so? Not for me to decide. It’s all moot now. I say at least I know Sharon is dead, for what that is worth. Not much. Sigh.