Beautiful Day

THE NOTEBOOK, PAGE 1

Dear Jenna,

I have finally reached the point with my prognosis where I accept that there are certain things I will not live to see. I will not see the day your father retires from the law firm (he always promised me he would retire on his 65th birthday, safe to say that promise was only made to appease me); I will not live to see my grandchildren ride roller coasters, get pimples, or go on dates-and I will not live to see you get married.

This last item pains me the most. As I write this, you are a senior in college and you have just broken up with Jason. For my sake, you are pretending like it’s no big deal, you said you knew he wasn’t “the One”; his favorite politician is Pat Buchanan and yours in Ralph Nader. So it won’t be Jason you end up with-dishy though he was (sorry, true)-but there will be someone, someday, who will light you up. You will get married, and you have said that you would like a big, traditional wedding with all the bells and whistles. Since you’ve been a little girl, you’ve had your heart set on getting married on Nantucket, and although marriage is probably further from your mind now than it was when you were six, I hope that is still true.

That’s where this notebook comes in. I won’t be here to encourage or guide you when the time comes; I will, sweet Jenna, probably never meet the man you’re going to marry (unless it’s the delivery man from FTD who has been here three times this week. I can tell he has a crush on you). My hand aches knowing that it will not be squeezing your hand just before you walk down the aisle.

But enough feeling sorry for ourselves! I will, in these pages, endeavor to bestow my best advice for your big day. You can follow it or ignore it, but at the very least you will know where I stand on each and every matter.

I wish for you a beautiful day, Jenna, my darling. You alone will make it so.

Love, Mom