With the revelation of her first name, there was no “aha” moment. After all, I never really introduced myself all those years ago at the golf course.
Jeanne and I decided to speak on the phone. My curiosity about her had heightened, so doing what any well-versed businessman would do, I referenced for more information. Using the Internet, I was able to piece together the facts I had and, sure enough, I found ‘her story.’ She was everything she had said and so much more.
When the time arrived for our call, I was excited to share with her what I knew, but when I did the silence was deafening. She did not make a sound. So I added quickly, “If you Google me, I’m not the guy who had the shootout with the FBI at Ruby Ridge.” (I know, that was smooth…) Uh oh, can silence grow louder?
I spoke gently saying, “You’ve been through a lot. I’m sorry about your loss. I can’t say I’ve been through anything like it, myself. I won’t say, ‘I know how you feel.’”
The first thing she said was, “Don’t ever call me ‘strong.’”
What? I didn’t know what she meant until she repeated it saying, ”Just don’t ever call me ‘strong.’ It’s such a dismissive word, like, ‘she’s strong. She’ll be fine. People say that so that they don’t have to worry themselves.”
The realization of what Jeanne had endured, and endured alone, was powerful. I said, “How about if I call you ‘capable & worthy?’ You are capable of handling what life brings your way, and worthy of all the best that life and love have to offer.”
There was a tremor in her voice as she whispered “thank you.”
Jeanne was still on the other end of the phone, so I began to ask questions about how her career had begun. She slowly spoke to me about playing golf at an early age, in tournaments and competitions. She’d worked for years at the local country club, from the age of 14.
Then, she found herself working at an acclaimed 36 hole resort course in Los Angeles. That was the local course I was playing back in the 80′s, the one with the beautiful girl and the gorgeous smile…
Could it be, twenty years later, she was here with me? My mind began to race.
I asked, “Did you wear a dark blue skirt, a white shirt, and a powder blue sweater? Was your office in the Pro Shop?”
She’d gone silent again, and after a few moments, quietly asked, “Have you been stalking me?”
My heart was hers as I replied, “No, just waiting for you.”
By the time Jeanne and I spoke on the phone, I had made my last move. The house was near the beach with far too much room for just myself. The yard was much too large as well. It was a half acre with a lot of grass. Had I unknowingly been preparing? Is this what they refer to as ‘nesting?’