It was with a heavy heart that I sat down on Monday to write the article about Charlotte Stafford’s death. I just couldn’t shake the sadness that had clung with me since I learned of her passing on Friday. And it seemed that with each sentence I wrote, the tears fell harder.

As heavily as the task weighed on me, I wouldn’t have shirked this particular duty for the world. Charlotte had a special place in my heart, and I cherished the opportunity to pay tribute to this remarkable woman, who was a living part of the richly woven tapestry of Oxford’s history. And it was an honor to know that the lady historian herself had asked that I pen her final memorial.

It was almost two years ago that Charlotte first welcomed me into her home. The very house, constructed by her grandfather, where she was born and, on Friday, surrounded by the community she loved, died.

I was still in my first week at The Evening Sun, and I’d been assigned to write a feature on Charlotte to complement our coverage of Oxford’s bicentennial. It will come as no surprise to those who had the privilege of knowing her – for it was indeed a privilege – that what was originally intended to be a brief interview stretched into more than two hours.