This beautiful eulogy was written by my housemate, Joseph, who was quickly becoming friends with Barbara.

How can you.
In spring.
At Easter.
Was it Good Friday, Barbara?
Will you rise again the third day?
Master, had you been here, my brother had not died.
Had I heard the phone ring
Had I heard the phone ring
We were going to color easter eggs
Maureen Beth Katrina Me
and Barbara
Saturday we were going to color Easter Eggs.
Have a jolly old time.
Make new friends
Have a jolly old time
For easter, for spring
For rebirth.
If a man die, can he live again?
Barbara.
Beth had bronchitis.
Maureen had to rush to help a friend.
Sorry, no easter eggs.
Sorry Barbara.
Sorry.
Sorry.
I called, left a message
Sorry, no easter eggs
No celebration of rebirth
Later, I’m sure, sometime. Hope you’re well.
Click.
You called. No one heard the phone ring.
Was the blade in your hand when you called?
No one heard you call.
No one heard you calling
No one heard.
If if if if. If only. If.
No one caught you.
Could I catch you? Could anyone?
You looked into me:
Hungry eyes, longing eyes, I held your eyes as long as I could
Barbara.
I’m not Gabriel.
I have no silver trumpet.
I cannot hold your soul
Slipping slipping slipping away.
How could you
In spring.
The roses will bloom, Barbara.
How will they bloom, knowing you are not there?
Will they not blacken, a sudden blight
turn your yard to mourning?
No, Spring will come
Roses bloom.
They whisper: For roses know. For roses know.
Roses, trees, they have come, they see:
Human lives burning light bright flames
Little lights burning burning burning
The roses know,
They dance, they hold her
Her suffering soul nestled in their velveted petals.
The roses know
Sorrow. They hold deep in their dark velvet heart
The roses know
Roses know it is spring.
Roses wear thorns and wrap themselves in velvet
Velvet: dipped in blood.
We pruned your roses together.
Cut out the dead
Cut out the old and useless and overgrown.
Cut back to the fresh, bleeding green of life
Cut it back.
For it is spring. Time.
Time to: Let death go
The soil whispers of dead things falling to the ground
Dead things: slipping apart to feed
New glowing green rising from the soil
It is spring. Let us whisper: rebirth.