The One Hundred Years of Lenni and Margot

by Marianne Cronin

If the surgery goes well, I’ll be catching a plane. To see Meena once more. To see if the ring she made me fits. And to finally say “yes.” If I don’t wake up, I’ll be boarding a plane to find you. Either would be the greatest adventure.

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.

I’m standing among the other passengers in the departure lounge, staring out of the great glass window at the plane, and thinking, That’s it? That’s the thing I’ve been afraid of this whole time? And it’s okay. It doesn’t look so big from close up.