They found her. But not exactly the “they” who I thought would find her. And being missing so long, I’d begun to doubt she was there to find. They found her where I knew they would find her, if in fact she hadn’t started a new life elsewhere. They identified her with the time-tested dental records technique.

And after being missing a decade, it seems like she was part of my life from another lifetime or two ago. And I’m sad – not in that overwhelmed by grief way, but in that sneaky, creeps-up-on-you way where you’re fine one minute, then your thoughts start to drift and the next minute your eyes are full of tears.

And I’m horrified by my own thoughts and speculations. I think about what happened to her when she died. I wonder about what death must have felt like. I think about what her remains looked like after so long.

When I was little, she was the most fun, a little crazy, very animated, full of energy and smiles. I still remember her smile because if you ever saw it you’d never forget it. That same sentiment applies for her slightly mischievous eyes. But this is just the little kid perception. As we all got older, we didn’t see our relatives quite as often and I never got the chance really to get to perceive her through my adult eyes.

When her son was born, he was their only child, and the youngest of all us kids because there wasn’t any more born until my daughter was born to start the next generation. I haven’t talked to him for some time now; I wouldn’t know what to say if I did see him. I simply can’t imagine being in his place.

There is nothing more I wish to say in so open a place, the rest I prefer to keep inside me. Except maybe after everything is said and done, I hope there will be a place where I can say goodbye to her.