"See, Cassie? This is something I would have called him about," she said, locking up the door. "I mean, he was honestly good at this kind of thing. And he would never tell me what to think or what to do, but he helped me organize my thinking." She paused, fussing with that damnably irritatingly touchy lock. She looked up at Cassie. "He would have helped me with this and to know what to do. He would know how to manage this. And he could have helped."
Later in the day, she stumbled across a photo on FaceBook. It was of her college roommate's niece, the niece named for the roommate, but someone she had never met. It was a photo of her--the niece--at the county fair with her llama, and both dressed up like a certain current techno-pop diva. Oh, but he would have thought that was hilarious.
And later still, when the catalogue of pink ribbon items came, too funny, too funny. Or the truck hauling the pink ribbon porta-potties. You've got to be kidding. The hilarity that would have ensued then.
And the Onion story.
The rumor she heard.
A joyous moment needing to be shared, and he was the best for that.
A lesson she learned.
These things, she misses.