No, we’d never met, and no, we’d never chatted over the phone (or any other contrivance that allows voice or visual transmission). But we had a connection. Or I did, and that’s what matters to me. Whether it went two ways isn’t relevant. Whether Melanie knew it or not, she lit up my life with her wit and charm — and those moments of COF syndrome (that’s cranky old fart syndrome to anyone who needs to use it) that made me laugh and cry and want to reach out with a big hug. She was a friend I’d never met, but whose loss has devastated me.
Melanie is gone. Not only was she on the other side of the world, but she’s now on the other side of the veil. I’ll never get to wait a few days before I comment on her posts so we can be a bit ‘personal’ in what we say and share.
Vale, Melanie, and I hope you know, even from where you are now, that you made a difference to a lot of people, not just me.
My wish is that wherever you are, and whatever is there, that you are free of pain and distress, and comforted by the companions who loved you and were loved by you in life and any other form of being.
Farewell, friend.
This is Melanie’s last post.
Yes, I know it’s a usually a military term for a tradition to signify the end of the day and for funerals and commemorative services (ANZAC Day and Remembrance Day in Australia). However, this is the reality of the ‘last post on WordPress’ from Mel, but to me it does double duty as both a tribute and tongue-in-cheek, because Melanie would understand, and she knew soldiers and what was important in their rituals. We both shared that understanding.
Mel was a fighter, too, and now her fight is over.
Cage Dunn - Fibber, Fabricator, Teller-of-Tall-Tales 
So sorry for your loss. I didn’t know of Melanie but your words make we wish I had.
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She was a lovely cranky lass with an opinion and an attitude, a good dose of wit and savvy, and a friend – whether she knew it or not.
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This is such a lovely tribute to Melanie, you did a wonderful job, Cage.
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I’ll be missing her for a long time, but at least we know and aren’t left wondering what happened, as is the case for so many people who’ve ‘disappeared’ over the last few years.
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I agree with Jim, Cage. This is a lovely tribute. Her attitude always held true, she would say things as they were, no pussy footing around, yet never caused offense. We both shared a love of dogs, and I was gutted for her when Hunny died, as she was when we lost Maggie two years ago. She loved Maya and our personal emails were swapping virtual hugs and dog biscuits.
I feel I have lost a friend as well as a blogging partner. She was unique, clever and witty. Rachel is looking after Ziggy and I am sure knowing he would be cared for gave her peace to move on. She is now free of pain and I hope, wherever she is, that she knew at the end just how much people cared.
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I hope she knew, too. I hope such a lot for her: peace and freedom, pain-free, and knowing she was loved.
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Amen to that.
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There seem to be a lot of losses this month, or perhaps I’m just hyper-sensitive to it. I’m sorry to hear of Melanie’s passing, Cage. You sent her off with a lovely farewell.
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There seem to be a lot of losses this year. So many disappear and we never know what’s happened; at least Mel had someone to tell us, and you were with your Mum. So many lost voices … so many lonely goodbyes when people weren’t allowed to visit their loved ones at the end.
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It’s sad when people and their blogs simply disappear. They’re real friends, even if we’ve never met in person.
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True.
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I’m sorry to hear, Cage. May Melanie rest in peace.
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May she rest in peace.
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