Dear Ms. Doris...

Hey Girl!

Just writing you a letter because I can't get on the phone and call you right now. Your goddaughter is just as finicky as you thought she would be the first moment you saw her jumping around in my belly. Do you remember that?

We used to take our daily walk together at lunch. It was your idea to get me outside to breathe some fresh air. I had recently returned from the Caribbean after my aunt's unexpected passing. You understood what her passing meant to me. She was more than an aunt. She was more like a mother to me. You allowed me to be vulnerable in the presence of a true friend and escape my professional identity and the accompanying rules of decorum. With you, on those walks, I was allowed to grieve and you walked right there with me providing comfort throughout my journey.

I cried as I explained to you that the only thing my aunt ever asked of me was to give her a child to hold and I did not get to do that for her. I was quite comfortable with my life and wasn't trying to hear that. But, when I went back home and her death became undeniably real, I decided that perhaps I should have a child and leave my mark on the world. You laughed so hard as I boasted about how many times we tried to get pregnant on that island.

The next month, I couldn't wait to meet you in the courtroom. I ran in like the cops were chasing me. At first I thought the courtroom was empty but then you slowly appeared. I shouted, "Doris, I'm pregnant". You said "girl, stop playing". I said "I have the evidence to prove it". You pulled up the tv and vcr used play videos for the jury. I popped in the VHS and we saw the tiny being bouncing weightlessly through space. I proudly explained that we were witnessing the baby growing inside of me. We watched in amazement as we pondered how mystical life truly is. And in that moment, you became a godmother.

Tomorrow marks two years since you unexpectedly left this earth in the human form I knew and loved. You remain the ultimate diva. Beautiful. Kind. Spiritual. Selfless. Loving. And forever, my true friend.

I miss you Ms. Doris.

p.s. Between me and you ;-), I felt your spirit the first time I wound up your pink, angel musicbox that plays "I will always love you". I realize you were not ready to let it go just yet but girl, I ain't gonna lie, you freaked me out at first. And although your sister was the one who graciously gave it to your goddaughter, I want to thank you for allowing her to enjoy it.

*To read a moving dedication by Doris' sister, please click here.