Judy.

Remember a million years ago when I said I wanted to get to know your mom? We talked about having her friends come over and spin a few yarns about the good old days. 

I proposed the idea because I wanted to get a glimpse of the woman who made you you. Because I had the good fortune of knowing and loving your dad, I could see the ways he showed up in your being. But I also wanted to know those things about her that I could identify as part of you. And I really thought you might like to hear the stories, too. After your dad died, I thought you might actually need them. 

Fast forward to last spring.

Charlene was gone. Along with Fran and Wally. And one Sunday afternoon, Judy showed up at our front door. 

I barely had the door open and she blurted out as only Judy can do, "I don't know what's happening, but I know something isn't right. Where is he? Is he dead or alive? What the hell is going on?" 

I invited her in, hugged her hard and sat her down. My intent was to tell her enough, but not too much. 

She remembered the trail rides and your dad's involvement with her mom. She asked some hard questions about when it started and how I found out. She didn't beat around the bush and wanted to know if your name was on the house and if you were sending money. 

I told her the truth. 

She told me how she, Gary and Jeff L. had a little "calling posse" for you. They kept in touch with each other when you started to go dark ... and when no one had heard from you in a while, they'd all start hammering your phone until you replied to one of them. And then they'd alert the others that you were alive. 

She also told me how worried she'd been since you just stopped calling and responding to her  altogether. She was scared. 

When I was done with the high-level overview, she didn't mince words. She was pissed. She loves you like her own and has no trouble jumping into "Ma" mode, ready to grab you by the ear or kick you in the ass just as swiftly as she'd hug you if you needed it. 

She asked me to stay in touch. She told me she was here for me if I needed anything. 

It felt good to talk to her. I didn't have to "explain" you ... she knows how you are and how you think. And maybe more importantly why. I didn't have to justify loving you or being blindsided. She understood my tears and my anger. 

And true to her word, she continued to check in. 

She is much softer and sweeter than I thought. I have come to really, really like her.  

We had lunch a couple of weeks ago. We talked about anything and everything. Less about you than you might imagine. She wanted to know about Kati and the baby. She told me a few stories about work. She asked about my job hunt. 

And before we got in our separate cars, she asked if we were ever going to have that conversation about your mom. 

I smiled. I told her how absolutely rudderless and alone Kati was feeling in the middle of all of this chaos and how I thought she would enjoy getting to "meet" her grandma. 

I said I'd run it by Kati and get back to her. 

Kati was all in. She said something like, "I don't know if I'll ever get to ask questions about my grandma to my dad, so ..." 

We had a great day. Judy painted a picture of a wonderful woman. She told Kati how much fun your mom was. How strong. How thrilled she was to be pregnant with you. How your dad was a totally different person around her. 

She told us about how she handled her diagnosis. We talked about snowmobiles and euchre and a fundraising party for Mark at the quonset hut. 

And we talked about your dad. And you. And Vickie and Kristi. And Joe and George. 

Kati asked her if your mom liked kids. Judy said, "Yes!" and then told Kati how much she would have adored little River. 

It was an almost perfect day. Except that you weren't there.