Your phone number was the one and only that had been granted the right to wake me up at any time, and it did the morning after Christmas. We had texted each other twenty-four hours ago, right when I had hopped off of a long plane trip. 

Still jet-lagged, the morning after Christmas, I wondered what you had to tell me. 

But that wasn't you. The voice was your fiancé's. 

'She's gone', I heard. 

I knew how sick you were. So sick we weren't able to meet, one day ago. 

I also knew how strong you were. A calm warrior you were. So... you were certainly strolling along your childhood riverbend, in the winter morning. Turned out you were not. You were not wandering along the river that morning. This realization hit the stupid me and my whole world crumbled. 

The dry taste of ashes in my mouth is still here. I know you should scold me for grieving for so long. I know you won't when we'll meet again. 

You will just smile. 

I will never be able to do you justice. I will never have the words. The talent. You only had that power. You did yourself justice by simply being. 

Should I describe your smile? Words are not enough to describe that star-like, loving and caring smile of yours. 

Your laughter? That crazy, full-hearted laughter? 

And that burning fire of tenderness that never died and never will? 

Should people remember your generosity? How many stories do I have to tell to make people remember how generous you were? 

I wish I could wake up Wilde, Hugo and Baudelaire, Rostand, Shakespeare and Henley from their graves, to beg them to describe your love for others. The love and tenderness you had for your fellow human brothers. To describe your incredible beauty. The English curls of your brown hair, your big sparkling eyes and your generous mouth. But even the greatest writers and poets would not do you justice. 

I never told you all of this. And although I'm pretty sure you hear me everyday, when I ask you to pray for us, your family and friends still on Mother Earth, although I'm pretty sure you now know how great a treasure was your presence for us, I still carry the infinite regret of not telling you all of this before I was told I wouldn't hear your laughter for a while. 

I am sorry I didn't take the time to let you know this when we were standing next to each other. When I could still touch your hand and hug you. I am sorry I did not hug you enough. 

I only told you that you were incredibly brave. That was true. But that wasn't all. Because being brave was the least of your qualities. And God knows I never met someone who had had more courage than you. 

Your courage, the valor you showed in those times of pain, of disease, of sorrow is now a beacon of fire for anyone who knew you. 

Your courage is the lodestar in our bitter night of sadness and never should it die. 

You talked when you could not. 

You walked when you were in pain. 

You laughed when you were, oh, so tired. 

You shone when any other light had been smothered.

You always had a kind word to add to relieve us from our sorrows. 

Your name means "small and meek", but you now know it means so much more for us, the church was so full some people were even standing up. 

Lodestar you were, lodestar you are and lodestar you will remain.  

Till we meet again. 

https://youtu.be/4inFlgryiCg