It was a Slow Train -- April 2, 2021

The train pulled into the station this morning. Very quietly and slowly, it pulled in. No whistles blowing. No major calamity, but it arrived on time for my cousin, one of my best friends ever.

We were born in Screven, Georgia. We lived under the same roof for many years. One day without my permission, she was shipped off to New Jersey to live with Aunt Margaret. They came back to visit the family in Georgia, but not too often.
The three Amigos made a blood pact that we would be cousins, friends, and best cousins forever. We lived true to our words over the years. We stayed in different places, in each other's homes, and when possible, we traveled, gambled, and did things together. We always knew that we had each other's back.

We could go for months without speaking or calling on the phone, but we always knew where the other ones were and often what they were doing. We just knew.

We shared our joy when we had our children. We shared each other's miseries when we got divorced. We shared the last, so many years checking in. One of the Amigos went home a few years ago, and the second one went home today.

My sorrow is so deep. My hurt is so unbearable. My pain is that of a sister who has lost a sister. We were always kindred spirits. We could look at something together and, without a word, know what the other was thinking.

Last week, my amigo told me not to call her anymore. She told me to talk with her granddaughter if I needed any information. She told me that she was tired and just needed to sleep. She said, Linda, I am going to be alright. Just take care of yourself. I am glad you decided not to run for re-election. You need to take care of yourself. I told her some of my goings and comings and the new action in my life, and she said, Linda, that's good. Girl, I am proud of you.

After that, she said she was tired and asked me not to call her or put anything about what was going on with her on Facebook. I promised, and so, I am writing this today because another one of my amigos has crossed over, and I am feeling very vulnerable.

There will be no big funeral. No huge newspaper article about her life, accomplishments, not even her last wishes will be published in a program. Cuz will just be silently laid to rest and only remembered in the hearts of those who loved her so much that even now, my heart wants to scream out her name and tell the world who she was and her contributions. But my very private, funny, and, yes, loving cousin will have her last wish honored. I will not put her name on Facebook, but her name will forever be written in my heart.

I love you, "Sweetheart," and I pray that your transition was easy and that you are now resting and getting some sleep on the other side of the wall.