Thank you, Scout, for giving me a friend when I was little. We were both little weirdos in overalls rolling around in tires and coming up with imaginary stories. We were both daughters of powerful lawyers that didn't speak much and demanded we listen when they did. We both had to say goodbye to childhood friends, we both had to mourn our brothers getting older, and we both stood up when good men passed.
We also both came home to find things just the way we left them, but now they were different because we'd seen the world and the world had taught us things. We both wanted our heroes to be real. We both realized the hero we'd been looking up to was someone inside of us.
I grew up with you. I learned what a book could do because of you. I always had hoped to meet you, and I actually did try to meet you when we were in Alabama, but you were too far gone by then.
Your life was ordinary and extraordinary. You're lucky, because you were a writer, which means those summer days you spent with Truman aren't dead. We read about them every few years, every couple of months, every time we need a friend and want to remember what it was like to run around outside in the summer. You were brave, you were complicated, you were beautiful.
I'm going to miss you. I'm going to really miss you, Scout.
Now let's all stand up. She's passing.