Natasha, I haven’t been able to think of you over the last year without thinking of your family as well. Your parents, sisters, and your girls have been in my thoughts more times than they know. I can’t imagine the grief they have experienced but I know they know how much you were loved. And I’d like them to know what you meant to me. And still mean to me. I had the great privilege of being one of your good friends – for a time when you lived in Calgary we were inseparable. I am naturally more reserved than you. I don’t make friends so easily but you barreled into my life like a trooper, and won me over. You were all infectious laughs and joy and no judgment towards others. You had a sense of humor and unwavering loyalty that took me by surprise and cemented my friendship with you. You made me love you. You made everyone love you. We did everything together. Saturdays were the highlight of my week with us meeting in the early afternoon to get ready to go out Latin dancing. You would turn the music up and we’d get the giggles in the bathroom mirror as we’d rehash the week. Who we were dating, how our jobs were going. Nothing was really off limits and I don’t think I have ever laughed as hard since then. We’d race out into the night, dance up a storm and come home exhausted; throwing ourselves onto the bed and often talking all night long. We’d be delirious, talking nonsense, laughing until our voices were hoarse and finally drifting off to sleep as the sun came up. You would shake me awake a mere 2 or 3 hours later and drag me out for brunch at some beautiful little dive where you would order oatmeal with honey. And tea. Always. We vacationed with my family in Montana and we got to stay with your amazing parents and sweet sisters in B.C. We hit a freak snowstorm on the way to Vancouver and the more dangerous it got to be on the road, the more hysterically we laughed in the car. You called your mom to say that we might die but when she answered, all we could do was wheeze into the phone from laughter. The photos from those trips are precious to me but I wish we had taken video of some of those moments. It is too funny to describe but I know your family and friends don’t need a description. No doubt they have had the same kinds of experiences with you countless times. I saw on facebook that you had died. I felt myself reeling. It had to be a mistake. Someone somewhere had to have been misinformed. But it wasn’t a mistake. And they weren’t misinformed. I felt myself go through the day in a complete daze. And then I came home, pulled out all the photos I had of you, and cried. I stayed that way well into the night and tried to remember every detail about you that I could. Every belly laugh. Every late night talk. Every ridiculous conversation. I wanted to remember all of it. I wanted to capture the last time I saw you when we went to Banff. We just picked up where we left off. We took a photo of the two of us on the balcony, the sun brilliant behind us. How do you ever know when it’s the last one? We drove home and you talked to me about your girls. About David. You dropped me off back in Calgary. As I jumped out of the car, you yelled “Love you! See you soon.” But you didn’t. If I had been there that night a year ago I would beg you to stay. Please stay. Let’s take off and go on another road trip and laugh so hard that we almost drive off the road. Let’s act like we are 12 again and stay up all night talking. The thought of not doing those things ever again with you breaks the place in my heart where you will always be. Thank you for being such a joyous part of my life and for leaving a legacy of happiness. I see that legacy every time your parents or sisters post something about you. I love seeing their stories about you with attached pictures. It makes me smile every time. I’m sorry that you were taken so soon but I know your girls will grow up surrounded by people who not only loved you, but who can carry on your spirit.