This weekend, early Saturday morning, my friend Lucy passed away. Always small and very delicate, her short, blond Chihuahua coat almost white, she had grown skinny and old for her eleven years. Not the elegant, uppity lady anymore, she was exhausted from heart trouble, from having to fight to breathe when she got the least bit upset. She was weak from refusing to eat. She was ready to leave us; but she chose her time. Lucy waited until she arrived at Delhampton, her luxurious weekend home of spacious, elegant rooms, with its grand windows bathed in morning sunlight. She chose to leave us as she had lived, surrounded that morning by the beauty of the place, with her sister Lola and in the caring love of her family Anthony and David. She chose the first days of April spring, when the brisk air had lost its edge, when the birds were returning to the garden, when early blooming flowers were just appearing and brown lawns were about to grow green. Lucy left us quietly, fittingly, as a delicate lady would. She lives on in our memories; she rests among the flowers. I will miss you, Lucy, when I visit Delhampton. You and Lola were my first friends. I will look from room to room to find where you might have crawled under one of your blankets to sleep undisturbed. Lucy of the flowers, I will miss you. I will look for you from room to room. © 2014 Woodwrit, Inc.