#reflections;

the night before she had tried, in vain, to think of what to say. she had scribbled line after line but all her scraps of paper had ended up on her bedroom floor. she wanted to say thank you, but it felt wrong when she had chosen to turn away from the life he had given her. she wanted to say goodbye but she didn't feel ready yet.

"thank you all for coming today," she said, echoing the sentiments of her fellow wards. she was amazed at how steady her voice sounded, how clear and strong it carried across the rows of mourners. her years working for the woodrow foundation had taught her how to address a room, a crutch she could lean on in this moment. maybe it would be enough to see her through these agonising minutes.

one minute, maybe two, that was all she needed to get through.

"i don't think i need to tell you all what a wonderful man richard woodrow was. the fact that so many of you are here is a testament to that fact. i'm sure we'd all describe him the same way, we'd talk about his kindness, his empathy, his intelligence..." she paused, giving herself a moment to breathe, a moment to steel herself to see this through to the end.

"the story of how i came to know richard is not unique, it's much like the stories you've already heard, and will hear, from my fellow wards. but that doesn't make what richard gave me any less important, any less special. he gave me opportunities and chances i probably would never have got otherwise. he gave me the gift of a future, and for that i'm eternally grateful."

she knew this was the moment she ought to speak about the foundation, about her intentions to continue richard's legacy. she recognised a number of people in the crowd in front of her from her work and knew they were all assuming that with richard now gone, she would be stepping in to take over. but she could not lie. she couldn't tell the truth either.

her voice caught in her throat, her composure wavering at the last moment. curling her hands into fists behind her back, she let her nails press into the soft skin of her palms, the sharp pain diverting her attention from the impending wave of anguish.

"if i had the chance to speak to him one last time, i'd want to tell him that i won't waste that gift. i know what a privilege it is and i intend to honour that. even if how i use it is different to what he imagined."