A regular user of The Urbana Free Library died last week.  We weren't surprised when the first notice appeared in the paper -- we knew she had been ill and we had not heard from her recently, whereas once she had been one of our most persistent callers.  Though I had spoken with her so many times, I knew very little of her story and was thus anxious to see the full obituary.
That came the next day.  Just one sentence had been added:  There will be no services.
Our relationship with this woman was not all sunshine.  She was often querulous and impatient; she frequently asked for telephone numbers and had an aggravating habit of quickly losing the slips of paper that she wrote them down on.  I know I'm not the only staff member whose heart sometimes sank upon hearing her voice.  Still, we actually like to serve here:  We're happy to be at least one resource for those who lack them.  We knew she was often alone and as the calls started coming from a hospital room as often as from her home, we knew her health was deteriorating.  A note of fear crept into her voice.  She always said thank you and sometimes called me "dear."
The last time I heard her voice it was close to Christmas and she called to arrange pick-up of a gift she had for our Homebound Services Coordinator.  It was, she assured me, a wonderful gift, a gift worth a special trip.
We're very protective of our patrons here; their right to privacy is paramount.  But this woman's story has already been lost.  Let us at least honor her with a name:
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