Varia: Jeannette's Story

I had no strong opinion on gay marriage until recently, and probably avoided thinking about the issue too much in order to keep it that way. I have a completely traditional view of my own marriage and was content to put all other relationships under the heading of "Not My Business." Easy, right? Well, no, as it turns out.

Because now my friend Jeannette is in love and wants to get married again. If you knew her, you'd want to dance at that wedding, too.

One morning, six years ago this July, I walked into the office, picked up my messages and listened to a voicemail from another friend of Jeannette's, informing me that a Manhattan tour bus had run a red light and in an instant, killed her family--her wonderful husband, Peter, a sculptor, and their incredible 12-year-old son Morgan--as they crossed the street in front of the Flatiron Building.

Peter had been walking Morgan to school and they were holding hands, according to witnesses, who said the bus never even slowed down.

I'll never forget walking with Jeannette to the funeral--so slowly, because she had to force herself to keep walking. It was a beautiful service, at our old parish, St. Francis Xavier in New York's Chelsea neighborhood. Afterward, we came back to her apartment, still filled with her guys' art and books and mess. We had a drink at the little table where Peter had once brought us a bunch of different kinds of olives he was all excited about--Peter was the kind of guy who could love an olive--to have with our martinis.

The unfortunate things people say on these occasions are a useful distraction, so we talked about the woman at the funeral who had been declaring that Jeannette would soon be one of the most sought-after women in New York, and was not too old to have more children, too, if she wanted. Never, she said. Never.