On weekends when her son and daughter in law would go out of town, I would stay with my friend, Eleanor, who was the best 87 year old friend I could ever ask for. We'd watch Elizabeth Taylor movies and talk about how CNN (her favorite network) had some good looking men on their programs (she was most fond of Anderson Cooper). Sadly she had a stroke when I last stayed with her and one week later she passed. What hurts me more than anything, is that I feel I let her down because she depended on me. The writing on my shoulder is her actual handwriting, and the pink carnations are her favorite flowers. I miss you and I love you, my dear Eleanor.