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Last week, Marilyn would have turned 65 if she were still among us. That's Elenor's mama, my mother-in-law, and I find myself wondering if she would have laughed at the inevitable senior citizen jokes. Yeah, I think so, but maybe not without a quick flip of the bird while she shoved a piece of cake your way and winked.

These are the things I think about, but it's all conjecture, because I never got to meet her.

I don't understand how a person can miss someone they've never met, but it's real. And every once in a while, I just have to ugly cry about it. It's embarrassing because I should get a grip and be a support to Elenor, who misses her mom something fierce. And yet, on occasion, I'll find myself a puddle of tears and tissues, missing hugs I've never felt. It renders me nearly useless imagining what it might feel like to not share motherhood with my mom.

Marilyn passed away in 1999 after a short and harrowing battle with stomach cancer. Elenor, the last of five kids and the femme finale, was 14 years-old. She was young enough to be bulldozed by losing a parent, but old enough to have stockpiled memories of vacations, perfumes, nicknames and mannerisms.

I've been with Elenor for 12 years and I'm still learning new things about Marilyn — like that she clipped the nails of all the babies at church and that she always thought the song said, "I can see clearly now, Lorraine is gone." I mean, this gives me life.

There are certain things I've known from the very beginning, though. Like how Marilyn practically wrote the book on nurturing. Sure, she was a sassy and strong-willed woman, but also a complete and total love. Her kids, including the two dogs (who, by the way, she carried in her bag way before it was posh) were spoiled rotten. Nintendos, Girbaud jeans, and Dr. Martin's for the kids, and Arby's 5-for-5 for the dogs (seriously). Oftentimes, she was the only thing that could soothe Elenor's childhood anxiety and she never missed a soccer game or ballet performance.

She loved so fiercely, I imagine it was like a pressure cooker — providing a lifetime of love in only a fraction the time. And probably tender as heck.

Ugh. I just ache. I was so close to knowing this force of nature, but barely missed her.

Or did I?

For years, I've watched my brothers-in-law fuss over holiday meals and carry dogs around on their hips. They fixed Elenor's hair before she and I walked down the aisle and they tell me embarrassing stories about when she was little and tried to pee standing up like they did.

And I think about how Elenor packed three outfits for Harvey in our hospital bag to accommodate his potential size and personality, and it sounds a lot like how Marilyn made sure Elenor, her long-awaited and only daughter, left the hospital with stick-on earrings and all 20 tiny nails painted. Such sweet adoration.

Mind you, Elenor had already told Harvey she loved him no fewer than a thousand times before she laid eyes on the kid or he'd even taken his first breath. And there's this new calmness she exudes — one so sure and deep it could only have been born of repeated exposure and one that is sometimes the only thing to calm our baby boy.

So, it occurs to me that while there's nothing I wouldn't give to see little Harvey with Marilyn, I'm not so sure I haven't already.

Marina Gomberg's lifestyle columns appear on sltrib.com. She is a communications professional and lives in Salt Lake City with her wife, Elenor Gomberg, and their son, Harvey. You can reach Marina at mgomberg@sltrib.com.