I was sitting at my desk when I received a phone call from Ireland that my Godmother had died. She was young, and seemingly healthy, so when news broke out that she had collapsed of a sudden heart attack–dead–everyone was shocked. Robbed of the chance to secure one more hug or the opportunity to share words of love with her, I cried when I heard the news. I loved her. I don’t remember ever telling her that though; we just don’t do that in Ireland. I cried for her only daughter, Alice, too, whom I love.