People sometimes opine of someone who has shed their mortal coil in pursuit of a dream that, "well, at least they died doing something that they loved". Well, I have to feel that such platitudes indeed ring hollow to those who actually loved them, as, in spite of all the accolades and laurel leaves, they would prefer the warm embrace of one loved dearly, than the cold reflections of trophies and shiny bits of metal in remembrance of the departed.

We place flowers as tokens of both sorrow and remembrance on the places where, in many beliefs, the body and spirit separate, especially if that separation happened violently. We often pass these memorials as we travel urban streets, through neighborhoods we would hesitate to stop in, on the side of highways traveled often and seldom, or, on a desolate desert lakebed, where those for whom a mundane existence was never in the cards, chase their dreams, and, for a fleeting moment, touched the face of God.

...As Jimi once remarked, "I'll see you in the NEXT world..., Don't be late!" (Acts 24:15-16, John 5:28-29)

**Devastating. Such a badass person. She didn't deserve such a lonely life.**