I remember...

...your pretty manicured nails the first time I met you. You were not pretentious, and so I curled my uncared-for nails into my palms and simply basked in the warmth of your smile.

...your West Virginian accent: fole: as in aluminum fole. Tolet: as in toilet. Tom and skole: as in, it's time to go to school. I loved to tease you, and stood outside your bedroom one night when you and Todd and Kevin and I were housesitting; I shouted through the door, "It's non o'clock, tom to go to bed!" I couldn't stop laughing as you swooped out of the bedroom and pummeled me with your pillow. You couldn't stop laughing, either.

...the way you cared for Todd. Sometimes he would make me so mad - he just doesn't do anything around the house!, but you smiled softly and served your husband of one year. I am still learning from your example.

...your humble nature. I positively pranced around the kitchen the night you and our other friends came over for a feast of Cornish game hens, stuffing, mashed potatoes, green beans, salad, and biscuits. I was in my element, and very aware that you were not. Yet you never stopped smiling that evening. And sweetly saved the day when the oven broke before I could bake the biscuits - you made the best doughnuts we had ever tasted by frying the dough and rolling it in sugar. Dessert, courtesy of the sweetest woman present. Humble pie, eaten only by yours truly.

...your generosity. It's only in recent years that I've discovered you as our secret benefactor! Kevin and I would find an envelope with money once in awhile in his box at school - and then we would use it on a movie and dinner with you and Todd. I'm so glad we spent it that way!

...your listening ear. We spent many hours lying on couches in the campus center for the University of Texas, me in the throes of morning-sickness, you holding my half-eaten container of hot-n-sour soup from General Joe's. We talked of our hopes and dreams for the future, and how we would always be friends, having our babies together; living next door to each other in our silly dreams.

...your relief, when you called me on June 13, 2000 to cry and be comforted through the exhaustion of having an eight-week-old. I reassured you that letting Madi sleep with you would not harm her at that early age, and to pay no mind to the advice of those church ladies. I told you I was so proud of you for making it through the first weeks of nursing - it had been a struggle. We said I love you's, and hung up.

...Todd's voice when he called in the early morning hours of Friday, June 16, 2000; "I'm losing Jen!"

...waiting anxiously by the phone, praying for you to come out of the coma. Praying for Todd to be strong, for Madi to be blissfully unaware that her mama was not present.

...hitting Kevin's chest when he told me you were gone. Hitting him over and over, then sinking into his arms, the strength gone from my legs.

...packing up Corban, who was thirteen months old, and driving for two days straight to get to the funeral in San Marcos, Texas by Monday. The numbness, the surreality of it all making me sleepy, and taking away my appetite.

...marveling at how I had never heard an a capella church sing "It Is Well" so terribly; we were all weeping.

...seeing the nurse who cared for you in your final hours weeping at your funeral. She could hold herself together no better than the rest of us.

...holding eight-week-old Madi in my arms, your sweet mama by my side, and the features of the two of them taking my breath away for how they reminded me of you.

...Todd telling us some of your final words: "I know Madi will be cared for, but who will take care of Todd?" Your words jolted me; I felt I could never say the same thing if I were in your place. But over the years, those sweet words have gently prodded me, and my understanding has grown. I now know what you meant, and feel the same.

...the strength Todd showed immediately after your death, and the awful, debilitating sorrow that took over, weeks later.

...praying him through another breath, another minute.

...receiving pictures of a growing Madi over e-mail, marveling at her eyes, her red nose, her lips... all so very Jen.

...receiving pictures of Todd, smiling once again.



...kneeling by your grave and whispering, "I'm having another baby, Jen," and realizing that you had probably already met our sweet Micah Nathanael. Life going out as life comes in.

...yesterday, when the pain of losing you still cut fresh, a knife in my heart when I realized it has been seven years.

...everything. Every word, every lesson. I am so blessed, and changed, for knowing you.

I'll see you soon.

Remembering Jennifer Lynn Hall, wife to Todd, mama to Madison Nicole.

May 31, 1974 - June 16, 2000

(Would you believe that I haven't any pictures of us together? I have many of Kevin and I taken by Jen, and many of Todd and Jen taken by me, but none together. I will never let that happen again.)