Since Thursday, Auntie has been getting better. I don't cringe as much when she coughs, so that's a good sign, I suppose. She has still been sleeping a lot, though, so I've gotten some time to write.
I wrote a letter to a friend I had when I was a little girl, Rosa Cohen. We met during Sunday School when we were six, and we became the best of friends. We would see each other on Sundays, but soon the Sunday School teacher moved away, and lessons stopped until a replacement could be found. Nevertheless, we kept in touch. I turned out that although we attended different schools, we did not live too far away from each other. In fact, our houses were only two streets apart. Upon discovering this, we had play dates every weekend. My friendship with Rosa lasted years. We both were angels in the church's Christmas Pageant, we took up knitting, and we were interested in many of the same things. When we were a little older, we would giggle about which boys we thought were handsome and gush about photographs of the wedding gowns we wanted to have. Unfortunately, all of this ended shortly after my sixteenth birthday. Rosa's grandmother fell ill, and her family had to move south to care for her. We wrote to each other for about a year, but eventually we lost contact.
Rosa had been the only friend I had. When she moved away, I busied myself with my studies and caring for Auntie when she was sick (due to her poor immune system). She still was part of my life for a long while, and I don't know what I would have done without her. For this reason, I thought it would be nice to send her a letter, see how she's been. I invited her to tea if she is still in New York. Maybe she would like to meet Adelaide!
I hope she is still at the same address to which I sent the letter... ah, well, I will soon find out!