I loved young Alice. Always thought naming her “Joy” would have captured the brightness and lightness she introduced to her family in mourning.
Alice was in the womb when her biological father died. She never knew the love he would have unassumingly and generously given her. He was a gentle and good man. Cancer invaded his liver, he suffered and couldn’t survive.
As a toddler, Alice was a beautiful, bouncing bundle of joy with thick curls of golden hair surrounding her smiling chubby face. I’ll find some photos of her.
She adopted me as one of her aunts as my niece lived on another continent. And we had such fun together.
She died yesterday. Given more chemo than her young body could cope with, we think, but will never know for sure. She didn’t make 30. She left her baby boy, after only three years of his little life, with her mother, his granny.
I’m too sad and still in shock to write more today without the tears. A tragic life, a deeply sad loss.