The One Hundred Years of Lenni and Margot

by Marianne Cronin

“Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light. I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night,” I said. “You remembered.” She smiled. And we stayed there, watching the stars.

“I find it so peaceful,” Margot told me after a while. “Me too.” “Do you know,” she said slowly, “that the stars that we see the clearest are already dead?” “Well, that’s depressing.” I took my hand from hers. “No,” she said gently, linking her arm through mine, “it’s not depressing, it’s beautiful. They’ve been gone for who knows how long, but we can still see them. They live on.” They live on.

Lenni, wherever you are. Whatever wonderful world you find yourself in now. Wherever that fiery heart is, that quick wit, that disabling charm. Know that I love you. For the brief lifetime that we knew each other, I loved you like you were my very own daughter. You found an old woman worthy of your immense friendship and for that I am forever in your debt. So I have to say thank you. Thank you, sweet Lenni. You made dying much more fun than it should be.