Last night (she) came to me in a dream.
I don't remember now what the dream
was about. It was a dream like any other,
set in a landscape only half
familiar, filled with events that didn't quite make sense.
I remember feeling such relief.
(She) was alive and whole and so very like (herself).....I clung to (her).
(She) didn't speak. (She) never said a word,
but I knew (she) wanted me to let (her) go. ....
In the dream I remember weeping.
I thought if I refused, (she) would be mine to keep.
I thought (she) could be with me forever, but it doesn't work that way.
(Her) time on earth was done.
  In the end I set (her) free, not in sorrow, but in love.
It wasn't for me.
It was something I did for (her).
When I awoke I knew (she) was truly gone.....
I said a prayer for the dead,
opening the door so  the ghosts could move on.
I gathered them up like the petals of a flower
and released them to the wind.
What's done is done.
What is written is written.
Their work is finished.
Ours is yet to do.
 

Adapted from M is For Malice, by Sue Grafton