On Sunday I relaxed at the beach and finished up Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life by Amy Krouse Rosenthal. The book is a memoir done in the format of an encyclopedia in which the author alphabetically captures her observations and reflections of her every day life. Her entries range from profound to comical, and she zooms in and zooms out on her life in a way that allows you to get to know both her idiosyncrasies and the time and context that shaped them. I grew to like her more and more with each page and by the end I felt like we had been lifelong friends with all sorts of stories and shared experiences that we could chuckle about over a cup of coffee (Amy loves coffee!).
AKR, as I like to call her, has a habit of writing to authors when she finishes a book they have written, so I thought she would appreciate a note from me with my reflections on her book. While I was still at the beach, I looked up the book's website that was shared on the cover, but the website couldn't be found. Next I tried AKR's website that was also shared in the book. Again, I got the message "website cannot be found." I concluded that this was the fault of poor cell service, typed some notes on my phone to remind me what I wanted to say to her, and decided to try again at home.
When I got home I tried both the book's and AKR's website addresses again with no luck. Were both the websites down? How weird. I googled her name and when I saw the first entry my heart stopped - "Amy Krouse Rosenthal Obituary." Obituary?! She's dead?! My friend is dead?! I felt a lump grow in my throat and tears begin to well in my eyes. How could this be?!
In her obituary I read about a column AKR had written that was published in the NYT, titled "You May Want to Marry My Husband." She had written the article as a love letter and Valentine's gift to her husband when it was clear that she was going to lose her battle to ovarian cancer at age 51. I remember hearing this touching story on NPR back in 2017 when the article was first published, but I had not connected that author to the author whose book had totally absorbed, entertained and moved me. She had inspired me to strike up a conversation, but it was too late. She was gone.
I have not been able to shake the desire to have that correspondence, so I'm just going to have it here. AKR, here's what I wanted to tell you:
1. I found it very affirming to read that you share my fear and distrust of escalators. My family is particularly fond of the movie Elf because the escalator scene is just a small exaggeration of the routine I go through when I mount and dismount an escalator. I completely distrust the toothed monster at the entrance and exit of every escalator and make sure that I step way over its mouth as I get on and off so that it doesn't reach up and snatch my foot in its teeth. I love amusement park rides of all shapes and sizes but, damn, escalators are scary!
2. I sympathize with your inability to remember which side your gas tank is on. I want to let you in on a little secret before you are subjected to the humiliation I experienced when my teenage nephew who didn't even drive yet told me the sure fire way to know. You see, there's a little picture of a gas pump on every dashboard with an arrow pointing to the side your gas tank is on. I'm not kidding, there really is! Go look for yourself! Before you get too excited, this information will not be as life-changing as it seems. If you're anything like me you will forget to consult the picture until you have pulled up to a pump on the wrong side.
3. Thank you for allowing yourself to vividly imagine how it would feel to lose your child. For all of us whose children slipped through a hole in the universe; who were there one minute and gone the next; thank you for allowing yourself to feel and express the terror, grief and anticipation of profound loss when Miles slipped through that hole in the floor of the shipwreck you were exploring. When my daughter died, so many people said, "I can't imagine what it would be like to lose my child." What many of them meant was, "I don't want to imagine what it would be like to lose my child." It takes courage to face the potential of a loss so profound. I realize that was not the last time you needed that kind of courage. I'm glad that you found Miles, scraped up but safe, one level down. I'm glad that you escaped a horrifying loss that time and got more time with Miles. And I'm so sorry that your time with Jason, Justin, Miles and Paris was cut short by your disappearance through a hole in the universe. Thanks for letting me get to know you.
Your friend,
Nancy
