Looking Forward to Meeting You

About a year ago, while visiting Jake's parents, my father-in-law pulled an old, thick photo album from the closet. He laid it on the coffee table in front of me and flipped to a portrait of a raven-haired, ruby-lipped knockout. "Doesn't she look like a movie star?" he said. I said that she did.

He said he wished so badly that I could've known her, that beautiful, poised woman with a sharp wit and a gentle disposition who threw elegant parties and created stunning meals. That woman who could walk into a crowded room and quietly, without even trying, take everyone's collective breath away.

I would've loved her, he said.

I did love her, I said. I had known his mother for nearly five years. I had sat with her dozens of times. Held hands with her. Talked with her. I knew the stories she loved to tell. I had been surprised and delighted by her clever quips and flattered by her heartfelt compliments.

But I knew what my father-in-law was trying to say.

By the time I joined their family, his mother had begun to change. She repeated herself and forgot things and occasionally couldn't distinguish reality from her own imagination. Over the five years since I had met her, she had been exponentially disintegrating. She was still his mother, and yet, she was not.

She passed away on Sunday. And of all of the emotions I've felt after hearing the news, the one I can't seem to shake is this feeling of nervous excitement. I think it has something to do with knowing that someday, when I join those ranks on the other side, I'll have an excuse to approach this raven-haired knockout and introduce myself.

Because I just know I'm going to love her.



JEM