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It was very late on Wednesday night, the 28th of May, when close to 3am, I made one last check on Twitter before turning off the phone to go to sleep. There it was written that Maya Angelou had died. I let out an audible gasp, because people like her I thought never could die, their spirit would be eternal. Perhaps yes, her physical body had grown weary at age 86, but her spirit was as youthful and full of energy as ever. That's what I loved about her. Her eyes told so many great stories, her laugh was full of joyous childlike wonder and her wisdom would quieten any room gathered round to listen to what she had to say. She had lived a full life, and had left us so much to treasure in her writing, her activism, and as a human being who faced her challenges in life and didn't let them beat her, but turning it into the most inspiring pieces of work that will outlive her on bookshelves and libraries all over. The world was richer for having her, but we are poorer for her passing. But somewhere up above, it has now become a richer place for she has entered it.
