I’m sure I ought to come up with some more formal, dignified, and appropriate way to phrase this announcement, but instead I have the Skinhead Hamlet as an earworm:
GERTRUDE: (Looking out the window) There is a willow grows aslant the brook.
CLAUDIUS: Get on with it, slag.
GERTRUDE: Ophelia’s gone and fucking drowned!
The Shakespearean Heroine has gone and died on us. At least it was quick, and she was very old (probably 19 or so), and had lived years beyond what she would have if she had not joined our household. So we are shocked and sad, and yet not surprised, and certainly not so grieved as for the Scot, who seemed to have been cut down in the flower of his days. Maybe tomorrow I’ll remember a suitably dignified bit of verse with which to memorialize the Heroine.