Although she never had been a close friend, we had talked at any number of times, even went out to eat on our own more than once. As women we could bond within minutes.
She developed cancer twice, the last time being fatal.
My daughter carried the paintings from Boston to France. Rick and I drove the paintings three hours to Toulouse to a trusted friend who is a framer.
Yesterday we hung them in the kitchen. One serves as a window against my 400 year old stone walls. The other looks as if she belongs there, preparing our meals over my antique French wooden table.
Both of them are reminders of a courageous woman, one of the most honest I have ever met.