I knew she'd die of a choke. After all, she shoved in heaps after heaps of money into that foul mouth of hers. I actually despised her for that. Well, at first. After years of bringing her coffee and reminding her of her meetings, I got used to it and now that she's dead, I think I actually miss her. Wait, no. I miss her greed, her vile methods of piling up more bills, her absolute wickedness that seemed to know no bounds.
She was my mother. Or at least she should have been. She was caring and gave me advice when she noticed I was having a hard time playing the piano. Or at least that's what they want me to say. She stood up for me when someone bullied me in class day after day. Or at least that's what the books tell me. She gave me gifts during my birthday and Christmas day. Or at least that's what other parents do. She died one morning and responded to me no longer. Or at least that's what I've always known.
It was morning of the 5th of July and I just found out that my father had gotten ill. I badly wanted to take my leave and make my way home but I simply couldn't. I was Madame's driver and she was to meet with a company executive. I was so distressed, juggling one thought after another, until Madame called me and said she wanted to take the cab and I was free the whole day. It was only afterwards that I found out that she overheard from the maids that my father was in a bad condition and decided to give me a day off. What a kind soul, she was!
I kind of want to add more "eulogies" and have a well-thought flow of the negatives and positives but I don't seem to be fond of very long posts.
I'll just end this abruptly and say it's poetic license.