It was one of the longest nights of my young life. A heavily freckled teenager, I had never experienced a loss before. The news of her sudden death paralyzed and numbed me. I could not sleep that night and, having exhausted all tears, I started to scream like a wounded animal. I simply could not  believe I would not see her again, that I would not look into her quiet, yet sparkling, lively and warm blue eyes, that I would not once more bathe in her amazing aura or enjoy the music of her soft smile.

Her name was Rimma. She was my mother's very close friend from the capital of my country, Moscow. She was a professor of Biology at the Moscow University and a wife of a diplomat, with whom she traveled the world at a time when only few could in my home country, living behind the iron curtain separating it from the world.  They, the diplomats, had uncounted privileges - ones that Rimma never took advantage of.

One would never guess that Rimma belonged to that special group of the privileged.

Her looks, manners, and behaviour were simple and subtle.  Her long hair was collected in a bun at the back of her head. She would wear simple dresses, even when lecturing. She had square, old fashioned glasses, and her voice was low and quiet.

Yet her charisma was so powerful and irresistible that even I, a naïve girl, realized that spending time with Rimma was a gift.

Rimma was curious, intelligent and well-read.  For ordinary things and routine experiences, she usually had a perfect quote to match. She also loved being by the water and listening to its sounds.

 Quiet and unnoticeable in a crowd, she oozed femininity and inner power,  and a special secret that, to this very day, I have still not uncovered.

 And she loved life, and her family,  and me. She said she loved me like a daughter.  Those words I received as an award and will remember them as praise forever. They often kept me going in sad days, because her love made me feel special, even after she was gone.

But back in that dark night, I was still screaming and moaning from the piercing pain of losing her. Unstoppably, hopelessly, restlessly....

Rimma left love in my heart. She was, remains, and always will be my Lioness.