“That old train station had significant meaning to me,” said Karen as she nostalgically stared over my shoulder toward the back of the coffee shop. A slight smile crossed her face as her mind seemingly wandered to a lifetime over a hundred years ago.

“I would sit there, gently rocking and watching my baby girl sleep, but my mind would drift,” reminisced Drew as he stared off in the distance. “I lost my job just nine days before she was born.”

“Geoff, it’s Rosie O’Grady,” I began the call.

“Oh, Rosie, may the luck of the Irish be with you,” came the immediate reply in a well-practiced Irish brogue.

Laughter ensued.

Thirty-five years ago, Geoff and I sat in a steakhouse near Times Square. Like most business trips, it felt important at the time. There were donor meetings to prepare for, alumni to reconnect with, and goals to achieve. 

Today, I can recall none of that.

“Christmas this past year was terrible,” was the way my call with Mark started.