Presence

My godmother, Jean Jean (double-named at an early age by my sister), passed away this morning. She was in her eighties and had struggled with Alzheimers for six or seven years, maybe more. In the last few years she had become so different than the Jean Jean I had known, lost in that horrible disease. I hadn't seen her in over a year. She had recently been moved to a nursing home in Boerne.

In her heyday, Jean Jean was a consummate godmother. I adored her. She was chic and had a dry southern wit. She cooked beautiful meals. One recent Thanksgiving (2003) she snuck out with me to the guest house to have some wine before the meal. (She didn't think my mother would approve of her desire for wine.)

The most overtold story about Jean Jean and me happened when I was very young, maybe five or six. It was my birthday and my presents were stacked on the dining room table along with the food we were about to eat. As my dad said the before-meal prayer, he said, "We thank you for Jean Jean's presence with us today." No sooner had everyone said "Amen" than I burst out in sobs, saying, "It's not Jean Jean's presents, it's MY presents!" ...alas, I was a greedy little booger... but it made for a good story, told and re-told over the years.

I have been missing Jean Jean's presence for the last couple years, and I will miss her even more now.

Today is the last performance of Waiting for Godot. Thanks to Marc and Margaret for making it down for the show-- y'all are non-stop. :-) My body is grateful that this play is over. David tweezed a splinter out of my foot this morning, and that's not the half of it.