Lucy

It’s hard to say who loved me more, my friend Martin’s mother or my friend Martin’s grandmother.
Mart and I became friends in 7th grade, close to 60 years ago. I spent a lot of time at his house, an upstairs apartment over his grandparents’ home. His grandmother called me bright eyes and was disappointed when I lost my baby fat. She missed my round face.
Lucy Sowa, Mart’s mother, made me feel special. When Mart had a sleepover with four or five of his friends and we got rowdy in the middle of the night, Lucy got up and kicked everyone out. Except me. “Go home!” she ordered, before adding, “But not Eddie. Eddie can stay.”
Lucy always had a smile for me, even the last time I saw her, which was through a window at Wesley Village when Mart invited me along for his regular Covid-19 influenced visit.
Lucy died last Sunday, Dec. 13, on the Feast Day of St. Lucy. I believe it was her way of telling Martin, her only child, all was well. With Lucy, it always was.

Ed Ackerman