And I still miss her smile, her encouragement and the simple life we had. I still admire her determination to carry on. It must have been hard for her to have given up on her garden, her kitchen and all the other things that gave her such joy. But at times, she could barely keep her head up, so much was she deprived of strength. I go upstairs at night, and sometimes I think I catch a glance of her there. I still see her wizened little form sitting on the bed, asking me to lift her legs onto the bed. And that took no effort on my part. I would come into the room, and she'd ask "who's there" and upon being told "Guido", Barbara would respond "that's nice!". We had a good laugh that last evening, when I returned from a brief jaunt around the bay. Before the darkness enveloped her, she hugged me and told me "you're a clever boy, that's our secret". I helped calm her down, she often said. And I helped calm her down, right at the end by calling for medical help, to dispel all the demons that beset those who are dying of a terminal illness, so she could slip away peacefully. I wasn't there at the end, that was purely for her immediate relatives. Her spirit flew off into the light of the rising sun, and I knew she was at peace. I looked out over the sea, smooth as a mirror that morning, the sea she always wanted to be near to.
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