The Past Revisited

It was like a veil lifting, a veil which had dropped following the divorce 16 years ago.  Following the funeral of my ex-husband yesterday, hundreds of people came up to me to say hello and give condolences--the usual stuff.  For most of the people, whom I have not seen for nearly 20 years, it was the same.  I was aware that I knew them and when they said their name, floods of memories would pour back and I would recognize them and our former relationship.  The people who were children were now grown with families of their own.  Some of my generation and that of my ex-husband who was 75 at passing, had felt the gentle hand of the years.  For others the time was not so kind.  One woman said that it was brave for me to attend but I felt like I belonged there.  My husband of 28 years, the father of my three grown children had died and all of the people who had been friends and family over the years were there, and I knew all but a handful of them.
The whole experience was a bit overwhelming though as was indicated by my response to a tall gentleman who approached just as I was leaving the chapel.  I knew I should know him and I asked if he would forgive me and tell me his name.  He said, Denny Morris.  Oh my God.  I went to school with Denny and we had even dated for a while the summer after graduation.  How could I not recognize him, even if it had been more than 25 years since I had seen him last!  I joked about how he is the only person who had called me Denny because my first name is Denelda.  He looked at me strangely and I moved on to accidentally form my own "greeting line" preceding the family line outside the chapel.
Later at the reception I made a point of chatting with Denny again, oblivious to comments about his wife having been a student at the high school where I taught, and that his uncle was Tom Skinner, someone my age,...many clues...but I was too spaced out to make the connection.
When my daughter and I were talking about the afternoon, later that evening, I mentioned how I didn't even recognize Denny and she said that it wasn't Denny.  It was his son, Dennis Morris who is only 40 years old and was there because he was a good friend of my son, Bill.  But more than that-- I had coached Dennis for several years in Basketball at junior high!
My head is much clearer today.  I have had so many memories and old friendships rekindled as a result of yesterday's event.  But I will always laugh at myself for thinking Dennis was his dad who unfortunately passed away when our boys were just out of  high school.