a last thank you

On Sunday, Darcy Ray breathed her final breath without her dear husband at her side.
You see, he died years ago.
She has been waiting for her time to join him once more.
I knew her through my dear friend Deborah. A few years ago, when I was particularly losing my mind in my AD years, Deborah had let me "borrow" her mom, who was living with Deborah's brother and his family here in town.
Darcy had not been happy about being moved to Savannah from Maryland. I don't think I would have been very happy about such a move, either. You see, Deborah and her brother went up there for Thanksgiving one year and packed up her stuff and packed up her and came back here. She was not consulted about the move; she was told that was just the way it was going to be.
Deborah had thought it would be good for her mom to meet me, and the friendship would certainly be helpful to me. And Darcy and I hit it off pretty well, despite the great difference in our ages.
Heck, I'm not afraid of an age difference.
No, let me rephrase that.
I'm not afraid of an age difference for women in friendship situations.
I think I am still adjusting to the idea of differences in age for me and any guy I may be romantically interested in. I am seven years older than my ex and ten years younger than the Charleston bird I saw for two years. Still, I think Deborah is setting a good example for me, as she is about twenty-five years older than her soon-to-be wife.
I think Darcy would have been very happy about the upcoming first wedding of her elder daughter. Since her stroke a few months ago, Darcy has been much happier about many things. Perhaps she knew her long solitude was drawing to a close and her dear companion would once more be at her side.
I am sure she did.