Florence Worthy Griner, my first cousin, was about to take a trip she had dreamed of for years. She was going down the Danube River with her sister, Carolyn. But days before they were to leave, Florence surprised everyone by leaving on her own solitary journey beyond this earth with all its roads and rivers, dreams and aspirations.

Florence was the matriarch of a large family, and I can’t begin to comprehend the feelings of the children and grandchildren she left behind. I can’t imagine how her husband, Howard, feels without his wife to share his days and nights. I can only speak as a cousin to whom Florence mattered in more ways than she knew.

Though she was several years older, when we were children those few years felt like a lifetime. I was impressed with her independence as she came and went from Grandmother Ledford’s house in which she and Carolyn lived with their parents and Grandmother. Carolyn was only two years older than I was so it was Carolyn with whom I usually played. But the three of us together with neighborhood friends roller-skated on the paved sidewalk in front of Grandmother’s and the two houses beyond it. And on rare occasions Florence played paper dolls with us in the hayloft of the barn behind the house. But my special childhood memory of her is of the time she put me in the basket of her bicycle and took me for a ride. I felt so special. I still treasure the picture someone took of Florence on her bicycle with me in the basket, smiling.

I moved away from the south when I was 22 and only returned at Christmas, and often in the summer. I sometimes saw Florence on those trips home, but I want to write about my memories of one special time with her. It was 1985, and what was to be my last visit to Cairo before Mother’s death. Mother was visibly tired and my brother Mercer, who lived with her, was depressed. After cooking dinner for my brother Wyman—whom I called and still call Bubba—and his family, Mother was so tired she could hardly walk across the room. After they left, I insisted that she rest while I put the leftovers away and washed the dishes. “You act as firm with me as Florence acted with her mother when she was so sick.” Mother tried to say this in a complaining way, but I could tell that she was both pleased and relieved.

The next day Mother explained that Mercer was growing more depressed and paranoid and was afraid to drive them farther than the 13 miles to Thomasville. And he was more possessive than ever about her, the house, and the things in it. There were several things she wanted me to have so she slipped them into my suitcase when he was out buying cigarettes.

The emotional pain in the house was palpable. I felt broken-hearted for both of them.

But I felt like I couldn’t endure my visit without a respite, and was deeply grateful when Florence invited me to spend several days with her at her family vacation home on the Saint Marks River in Florida. Florence and I spent hours talking. Not idle talking to pass the time, but talking to earnestly communicate who we were and who we hoped to become. And I remember the sheer joy of lying in a hammock strung between two pine trees, watching clouds passing over in the blue sky.

Late afternoons we sat on the boat dock and drank bourbon and water, while watching the sunset, and waiting to see an old alligator that swam by at about the same time every evening. Once, when the sunset was especially spectacular, Florence called Howard in Tallahassee and told him to look out the window to see if it was as beautiful there. She didn’t want him to miss it.

Carolyn told me that with Florence gone, she feels a large empty place in her heart and I know this must be true. The sisters talked together every other day. My own sister, Harriet, born with cerebral palsy, was completely paralyzed and unable to speak a word. And though I loved Harriet dearly, and have found her to be an inspiration throughout my life, I longed for a sister who could talk with me. But I had my cousins, and with Florence’s passing, I find myself going back to memories of when we were children together at Grandmother’s, and Florence was so special because she was the oldest, and simply because she was Florence.