One of the first people we met when starting to attend a French/English conversation group here in Paris was a woman named Regine. She had a kind, patient, and sweet disposition. She had a wicked sense of French humor, too.
A year ago we talked to her after a group sing-along. She told us about how difficult it is to deal with members of France's Bourgeois class. She told us about the student uprisings of 1968. She told us not to sweat the language strains and stresses as it's a nearly impossible language, and that we all can understand each other in the end. We told her we missed her at group (she'd stopped coming regularly for various reasons).
It was a shock to learn this week that Regine had died suddenly.
Her enterrement was held on Friday under a dark sky that spit rain mixed with snow. Very few people were in attendance. There is seldom any justice in life, or so it seems.
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