Evelyn dies five weeks after her living funeral.
Peacefully, they tell me. In her sleep. No pain at the end. Just a gentle letting go.
The actual funeral is two weeks later. Small like she requested. The same twelve people from the celebration plus a few family members I've never met. No crowds. No spectacle. Just quiet grief and quiet love.
We're at the cemetery, preparing to lower her casket, when the officiant asks if anyone wants to speak.
No one moves. Her friends are too emotional. Her family too distant. Even I'm frozen, unsure what to say to honor a woman who gave me so much in such a short time.
Then Harper stands.
"I'll say something," she announces. Walks to the front. No notes. No preparation. Just Harper being Harper.
"I didn't know Evelyn well," she starts. "Met her ma
