Even now, I don’t think I have the words to do her justice.
My first memory of her is from high school. She was the friend of a girl I was "romantically pursuing," which in the 80s meant borderline stalking. If you’d asked me back then what I thought of her, I would have said, “Vanessa who?”
We ended up running in the same social circles, and by the time high school gave way to college, she’d gone from “Vanessa who?” to “Oh, her again.”
Some of you might wonder why I ever asked her out on a date. To put it bluntly, my intentions were less than honorable. I wasn’t looking for anything serious. If you’d asked me at the time, I’d have told you it was a casual thing, nothing more.
But here’s the thing: halfway through the evening, I realized I was having more honest-to-God fun with her than I’d ever had with the half-dozen “serious” dates that left me broke, disheartened, or trying to escape a multi-level marketing scheme.
That was Ness for you. Easy to overlook, easy not to take seriously—until she was suddenly in your heart.
And let me tell you, if my girl couldn’t get into your heart, you didn’t have one.
That’s why animals adored her. All the stray cats in the neighborhood knew our place was a safe bet for kibble. Whenever Ness came to visit family, the dog would forget your name until she left. And God help Timmy if he fell down the well, because Ness would’ve been the one to save him.
Our neighbor tried keeping a chicken once, but it didn’t last. The bird kept sneaking out of their yard to sit on our porch and crow until Ness came out to give him a scritch and a snack. Swans, parrots, praying mantises, goats, egrets—you name it. Animals would get all sweet and flirty when they saw my wife. She was like a Disney princess come to life.
Yeah, she was terrific. So giving. So patient. In 26 years of marriage, she only kicked me out of the car and made me walk home once. Once! That’s serious patience.
Her patience is probably why all my friends thought of her as their friend too. There was no “retreat to the man cave” when the guys came over. Ness was part of the gang. In fact, sometimes she was a lot easier to get along with than I was.
She’d sit and listen while I ran marathon RPG sessions, and she stuck it out through every one of my bad movie nights. That’s right: our marriage survived Manos: The Hands of Fate, The Room, and Basket Case. Could yours?
A lot of my friends learned a thing or two from knowing her. She was someone they could talk to. Honestly, she was someone anyone could talk to.
My father-in-law used to call Ness the “family caretaker,” and he wasn’t wrong. She cared about everyone. If someone on the street asked for $20 and she had it, she’d give it. If there was an accident or someone fell, she was there in a flash, ready to help.
Perfect example: just a few months after her last stroke, we were at the laundromat. My daughter and I were there because Ness was still weak—she couldn’t stand for long periods. Then a car accident happened at the intersection. Before I could say, “Ness, where the hell are you going?” she was gone, running to help.
I write about people trying to be heroes. She was one.
Vanessa—my hero, my best friend, the mother of my child, the proofreader of my manuscripts, the woman who didn’t run screaming when I told her I didn’t think I’d ever changed my bed linens. Was I supposed to?
I thought I’d be sadder standing up here. Sadder or angrier or something dramatic like that. But mostly, what I feel is gratitude. There’s no other way to put it.
I’m so damn grateful.
