JOANNE

Joanne was life. Joanne was love. Joanne was happiness.

I remember so vividly many little incidents from her childhood -
helping me to bake, to clean floors, to dust.

She had her own little ironing board where she happily 'ironed' her
daddy's washed hankies.

And always her little face uplifted for a kiss - for Joanne was also
affection.

But babies do not stay babies for ever.

Joanne was also teenage trauma, and occasional rebellion.

Joanne did not always see how pretty she was, with her lovely curly
dark hair and the bluest of blue eyes.

Drama was one of Joanne's greatest loves, and she had starring roles in
school plays.
Maybe that was why little incidents in her life could be turned into
drama also.

Trying to make sense of the mysteries and sadnesses of the world,
Joanne was not always happy.

But usually she radiated good cheer, with her bright 'Hi! folks!' as
she entered the living-room.

Loving little children, Joanne hoped to make her career as a teacher,
and had been accepted at teacher-training college.

But Joanne had also discovered a love of freedom - a freedom she tasted
as she learnt to ride her Dad's Honda 50.

She was a careful rider.

Not always finding study easy, Joanne worked hard at it and did well in
her mock 'A' levels.

Now she was eighteen and sitting 'A' levels in earnest.

One June evening in the midst of her exams Joanne felt the need to
'clear her head' of Maths, English and the rest.

"Be back by eleven" I said as she left for a spin on the Honda.

Last words!

Joanne was never to return.

Instead a policeman at the door, and we went to the hospital.

Waiting! Waiting! Growing ever more apprehensive.

Finally the surgeon's words shattered our lives.

Joanne was a careful rider.

But Joanne died.

We who are left try to continue.

The years pass but the pain goes on.

Eighteen years we were priveleged to know this bright spirit, but now
we who are left mourn her for ever.

Joanne died! And part of me died with her.