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.
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.