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I'm writing this post for me. There. You've been warned.

I lost a dear, dear friend this week. Since I moved to Little Rock, she called me a minimum of 3 times a week. At first I found this a little annoying, espcially since she never started out a conversation with, "Hi, Alice." or "Hey! It's me." or anything remotely related to what I would call a greeting. The first thing I would hear when I picked up the phone after I said hello would go something like this, "I need to know what day Andrea's coming," or "Alice, where did you get the receipe for that soup? I couldn't taste any chicken!" Or, sometimes it was simply, "Is Silas sleeping?" After a while, I quit thinking about it and I was able to tell her things I thought she would find interesting. I now treasure these phone calls as someone just wanting to know and caring about the details of my life. Few people can genuinely do that and I've found there's nothing our hearts long for more.

We ate dinner together one last time Saturday night. I never would have believed then that in 48 hours she should be gone. We had a great time. We talked about the Razorbacks playing, how she'd stayed up to watch the end of the World Series for the first time in years, how she was concerned about my social life, and how once at the same restaurant she ordered a pork chop that "was no more tender than the leather on my shoe". We left around 6 so she could get home for the Hogs. We hugged good-bye and exchanged I-love-you's. The Hogs won that night so I'm pretty sure she died happy.

I'm so happy that for her, death was not final. It's a matter of time before I can see her again. Until then, Nana, I sure do miss you.

Priscilla Alden Poteet
April 24, 1921-October 30, 2006