For Marty

You were born in Philadelphia, PA. You graduated from high school the year my father was born, 1946, so that means you were born in 1928. I'd suspect you had lied to me about this, but I was with you for your 80th birthday this year. Your father was an executive for the railroads, I just don't remember which line, but you conducted yourself always in a way that spoke to "proper" breeding, and that was certainly no lie. You spoke fondly of taking the train the "the city," and that city was New York, where you spent a day (more than one, to be sure) shopping, and I always pictured you, a dapper young woman, departing Grand Central Station and leaving behind any clue that you were from anywhere other than there. I think you went to college, but then sometimes I don't.
You were married, once, to a man you came to hold in low esteem. You had three children with him, but rather than stay in an unsatisying, likely stifling relationship, for the sake of the children or because of the what the neighbors might think, you divorced him. And you never regretted it. Your first career was as an airline stewardess, and you certainly had the disposition for it: you were naturally inquisitive, and you made a game of drawing people out, mixing levity and sincerity to greatest effect. That is not to say you liked people equally or unconditionally, but it would have gone against your character and your rearing to be anything else. One year, you treated us on Halloween when you dressed in your old TWA uniform and even brought a picture of yourself from the day. As I expected, you were gorgeous - past and present. As a stewardess you capitalized on the opportunity to see the world: London, Paris, Rome, and so many more. On my first trip oversees, to London, you gave me a Brittish Pound from your own travels and told me to put it in purse; I might need it. On each successive trip, to each foriegn city, I found a similar gift from you in my mailbox, and those talismans shaved the edges off my travel anxiety.
You were always doing thoughtful things like that. I don't know how you remembered my departure dates, or Clara's daughter's birthday, or So-and-So's retirement, but there you were, and always with the most appropriate gift and card for the occasion. So classy. Many of these gifts were similar tokens from your own life's journey. You saved so much (and God knows how you found it), and you were generous with anyone who could appreciate your treasures.
You and I had an unexpected friendship, separated by 42 years - a lifetime. I felt grateful you did not discount me for my youth as I expect you were surprised how much I valued your experience. You were blunt (some might say rude but never me) and life-smart, and you had a mind like a sieve. I never tired of talking with you. You could talk about anything! You moved gracefully among your 80 years, as comfortable and fluent in the present as in your distant past. You were able to pick out the best in all those years, nurture it, and encorporate it into your present-day self. Never did you wax nostalgic about the good old days, nor did you accept exposed midriffs, tattoos, or consumer debt. I admired you so much, and with each symbol of friendship you showed me, I grew more confident in the woman I was, resting sure that if I was unwittingly a twit, you would have set me straight.
My world shrunk today, but I could never regret the pain in my heart for the great joy of knowing you, of being your friend. The details of your life as I have recalled them here are untrustworthy, and skeletal, and not likely the ones I will share with this little person in my belly today. Rest assured that the important details, the ones that really made you the incredible human being you were, burn bright, and they will be never be forgotten.
Godspeed, Marty