It's the I Can't Believe It Day that never gets any easier to believe. We should be getting older together, Ingrid, and complaining about it. I should be calling you randomly to consult on the aging process, asking you if it's the same for you, joking that you're the old crone to guide me, wondering how much longer we can call it middle age and when someone else starts calling it old age. Another decade? Two? Can we make it last that long? I don't know now, because I only have my own opinion. Your better, more intelligent, less judgmental opinion is the one I want to hear.
Rest well, Ingrid. I miss you still with all my heart. I probably always will.
Love, Caren
