It was only 3 weeks ago there’d been the water fight – shrieking and laughing, throwing glasses of water over us all, hiding behind the counter and cackling to herself.

She’d always been that way – dancing around the others, playing silly games. If we went for a walk, she’d always be jumping in puddles, or picking flowers, making daisy chains, building sandcastles or laughing out loud at nothing at all. She was an out-and-out 6 year old, living life to the fullest, weaving her way through stories and tales, dipping in and out of fantasy worlds, befriending imaginary people, and loving every moment.

She passed away last week, sitting quietly (for once) next to the fire, listening to David playing his Banjo, watching the moths dancing around in the smoke. They said in the paper that she’d led a happy life – that it was the fresh air and country living that had kept her so well. But we knew better than that. She was the only 84 year old I’d ever met who had never spent her life a day older than six.

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