She wears black. Always. As it turns out, death was not the end of her story. Chapter four.

Rebecca Zwitser from Last Writes

I wore a pink dress to go and see Penny. She was wearing black. “Look at me” she said. “I don’t even need to change.” I watched her carefully. Even though people are staunch, there are layers and layers and layers that few people ever like to unpack. Particularly her. And, me actually. I gave her a hug. And we cried a bit.
“I cannot believe Mum is dead.” I looked at my bright blue shoes. Penny continued. “It is Saturday. That’s fun family day. I packed a picnic for my husband and daughters for a day of sailing – I was looking forward to some alone time while they were away. The phone rang and someone asked if I had someone with me. Why would they do that? Of course I know. They only do it when someone is dead.”
Death is so final. My reaction was shock with a lingering side-order of confusion. I knew her mum. I knew her importance to Penny and the family. I knew her story. What can I do?