Knowing What We Don't Think We Know

112509b

I’m pretty confident in saying I know pretty much everything there is to know about my mom. Though I know there are probably stories I haven’t yet heard, I really know my mom. And I’ll always have that. However…

Last week, my aunt called an old friend of my mom’s, who lives in New York, to let her know about my mom’s declining health. The friend made flight arrangements immediately. Her name: Karen Davis. I had no memory of who she was.

Even if I haven’t personally met them, my mom’s taught me about nearly everyone from her past. The name Karen Davis just didn’t ring a bell. And it was really disturbing. Karen was flying in Sunday to spend the evening with us, then flying back Monday evening. That’s how much this woman cared to see my mom.

The few days between the phone call and her arrival, I tried my damnedest to remember who she was. I couldn’t believe that a friend of my mom’s, who was willing to fly from one coast to the other only to spend 24 hours at the destination, was someone I had never heard of.

So, I thought and I thought. And then, just like that, it hit me.

She was the one who came to visit us years ago with her Israeli husband and three small kids.

I felt much better after realizing that.

Anywho, Karen came for dinner as planned. We had a lovely evening. She’s a wonderfully warm and positive person. What’s funny is that the baby she had come with the first time around is now 11-years old. Her other two are 14 and 19. How time flies.

(Karen showed us pictures of her family. Her son, the oldest, is actually a really good looking young man. He’s going to USC. Hey! We’re on the same coastline… Hello, Matchmaker! Hmm…? Well, age is definitely nothin’ but a number when you don’t want it to be!)