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

Rebecca Zwitser from Last Writes

There were differently inked pens so it was clearly something her mum had been picking up and putting down for months if not years. Notes for her grandkids and friends, things that she wanted to tell them and phone numbers of people to be contacted. I called one night. Just to check in. One night, she called to have a cry with me. “I have mum’s book and I can’t put it down” she said.
I was unusually quiet and she asked what I was doing. She seemed annoyed at my silence so I gathered my pink robe around me and put down my pencil for a minute. I said “I’m drawing ideas for a book like your mum’s. This should be everyone’s story and everyone’s gift. It’s a template for death and a whole bunch of issues that people can’t or won’t talk about.” “It is useful” she sniffed and I could almost see her turning over the book in her hands before tucking it into the pocket of her black dressing gown. (I have not seen it but I am pretty sure it’s black). So together we created a journal called Last Writes. It has prompts and space for people to write their wishes, dreams, triumphs, regrets, practicalities, and, well, just silly stuff too.

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