Christian (aka Potentilla) isn’t dead, but her life as an independent person has come to an end. As independence was one of the defining features of her life, then this is an obituary, of sorts.
I often had debates and crossed swords with Potentilla over at the home of Dr Crippen, who has this to say.
Odd business, the internet. I have never met Christian and yet I feel I know her. In a way. There is so much I want to say and yet, though I do not often have difficulty in finding words, I am struggling just at the moment.
Me? As I said, it was a hymn that popped into my head and it is one of my favourites; it may even be one of my favourite songs of all time. The second verse is, I think, appropriate.
And there's another country, I've heard of long ago,
Most dear to them that love her, most great to them that know;
We may not count her armies, we may not see her King;
Her fortress is a faithful heart, her pride is suffering;
And soul by soul and silently her shining bounds increase,
And her ways are ways of gentleness, and all her paths are peace.
Should anyone be around, I want this sung at my funeral. And preferably in a church, just so that I can piss off those prissy bloody priests who moan that it's racist.
After all, I wouldn't want to die without knowing that I was going to annoy someone even after my demise...