I sat in the pews, fidgeting from the unfamiliar feeling of being in church. I listened as Father preached about my Auntie Equilla. Auntie Equilla. Such an unfamiliar name. A stranger to me, yet I was related to her. I was also at her funeral. Her family and friends sat among me, tears running down their faces. Slow but steady streams, of tears. Who was she? I only knew her by the pictures among the table in the reception room. It was a loss, a death. A death of a stranger, yet I cried.