My good friend died a couple of months ago. I cried for a few days and then sang at her funeral. Since then I find myself driving past her house and staring at the dark inside, where so often I would see her silhouette shuffling around or watching a BYU game.
My friend was 95 and her name was Harriet.
On my way home from running some errands today I decided to wander through the local cemetery to see if I could feel her somewhere. I remembered how we hugged every time we saw each other. I remembered how she pitched in to the ward mission fund for our oldest missionary while I was back in school. I remembered dropping in every March 22nd to say happy birthday. I never found her headstone, but I think I found her.
She was sitting right there in my sentimental heart.