You know how sometimes you meet someone and you just know right away that there is something special about them, something in their energy, in their presence, in the way that you relate to each other?

Helen was one of these people. She was easy to spot, being over sixty years old in a youth hostel, curly pink hair, usually at least one piece of pink clothing on, always with pink accessories, usually drinking chocolate milk. Even though she describes herself as the "crazy, old pink-haired lady," she still seems to have the innocence of a child who does not understand why everybody doesn't just accept each other for who they are.

Helen's world is one of fairy tales, mystery, fantasy, finding magic in every day, in every minute, believing that there is magic because believing makes it real. Her world is beautiful not because it is without pain or evil or tragedy, but because it is filled with faith in things that you cannot see, in a belief in something that cannot be realized except through a blind trust in your own intuition.

Helen really touched me and, I think, everybody in Room 44. There were so many nights that we would find ourselves sitting on the floor indian-style around her bed, completely captured by her stories as she told us about her life, her children, her dreams, her travels, her book. Her words were full of life and energy, her stories full of love and beauty. She became like a mother to us... we could talk to her about anything and she would offer words of comfort, chocolate milk, and a big hug every time.

She was part of a storytelling festival here in Edinburgh, so on the night she was to perform, we all went out to a pub to hear her. She was wrapped in a beautiful cloak that she had made by hand herself and carried with her all around the world for this occassion. The mound of ornately decorated fabric was draped around her giving the impression that she very well could be a fairy or a queen or a little girl playing dress-up. Her presence was stunning as she recited a passage from a book that she is writing about fairies abiding in the trees of the enchanted forrest... I could almost imagine that they were her best friends as she described the characters, each one of them fashioned after one of her seven children.

Helen stayed with us for almost a week before moving on, but she is one person that I will never forget. She left very early one morning, before anyone else was awake... but when we did wake up, every girl in our room found a little fairy ornament on our bedside, I think a reminder to have faith in things unseen.