Though you died before I was old enough to know you, and I never met you in person, your spirit has travelled with me in this life, it seems. I know so little about you. I know you hated the name we share: Sara, but I don't know why. Ironic, since I feel the same about my middle name. I know you sewed and were a strong woman. My mother truly admires you. I think she hopes that one day I'll be like you. Yet she doesn't tell me enough stories about what you were like for me to know what those expectations entail.
It is the Wag Festival, and though I can tell no stories about you yet, I reach out with my trembling hands in the hope that you, though one of the Shining Ones, will reach through Time to me. That we might meet for even just one moment.
I hope that you find the Afterlife to your liking, and I love you.
Your grandchild, Neheti.