We Love the Same Man

If we didn't love the same man, chances are I never would have met her. Or if our paths had crossed, I might have smiled that dismissive smile I use for acquaintances not in my age group, and moved on.

I never would have known this woman whose birthday we celebrated yesterday. I wouldn't have known that in her younger years she created beautiful cross-stitched canvases and made delicious cinnamon rolls. I wouldn't have seen the picture that made me laugh, the one of her being swung into a kiss in her young husband's lap--and seen the photographic evidence that the delight of the moment made her toes curl up.

I wouldn't have watched her hold our newborn son gingerly (as she should, with such a precious cargo) and two decades later seen tears fill her eyes when that same now-grown-up child called her from Hong Kong.

I wouldn't have seen my Boys and my nieces grow into the astounding adults they are without the one-quarter of their DNA that came from her.

If we hadn't loved the same man, I wouldn't be mourning the toll age is taking on her senses and the frailty that has left her less mobile, and the downward trend of her thought processes. I wouldn't have been on the edge of tears yesterday as I looked at her three sons, her two daughters-in-law, her six grandchildren and their two spouses, and her ten great-grandchildren, all surrounding her during worship service and in celebration of her life.

But we do love the same man, a link that inextricably connects our lives, and because we love the same man I also love her.