So, I’m a little melancholy these days. The grieving process, it takes time.

I met Little Miss LJ last weekend. She is a joy and a wonder — she makes having a baby look like a fantastic idea. Her parents might tell a different story, being the ones taking the shifts for her care, but they seem pretty happy with her.

About a week after I met this baby girl, Jon, Ryan, and Nathan welcomed Sam Pilat, a stubborn little guy who needed to be coaxed out into the world. I’m not sure when I’ll get to meet him — my next trip to the Bay Area isn’t even on the immediate horizon at the moment. But he’s beautiful and they’re thrilled.

The first thing I would normally do with the experience and the news is call Mom. She lived vicariously in many ways and loved all of my friends, but Leonard and Jon were among her favorites. (Yes, she played favorites, but at least she had a lot of them.) I would have called to tell her about it and printed pictures to take or send up. I did that when Nathan was born, and when Shannon had Madison — when I cleaned out the shop, I found the pictures in her desk.

She would have been so happy to hear about both babies… I suppose, if you believe in Heaven (or a reasonable facsimile), she still can be. But sharing that kind of news with her was unlike sharing it with anyone else, and I’m not sure anything can (or even should) take its place.

If there is a Heaven, I don’t imagine it’s the kind of place where the deceased sit around watching the rest of us. I would rather picture Mom, Grand, Pepere, and Brian sitting around playing Hearts, reunited, with lots to talk about.

And Heaven is the place where the cigarette smoke doesn’t stain the wallpaper.