I hadn't really thought about it, even though I was there all along, but Jan and Dave had never dated anyone else; they had gotten together when she was 13 and he was 15, and their relationship lasted until she died 45 years later. I still stand by my statement that only boring people marry and make it work with their first loves, by the way. I love these two, but... Yeah.
I got to spend a bit of time with Jan's two sons, and their respective significant others. I had not met elder son Eric's wife Sharon before. Eric (25) had been briefly married to a beautiful, soulless bitch whose name I have completely forgotten, but he has hit the jackpot this time around; Sharon is a high energy pixie, tiny, beautiful, and very smart. Finding out she was Wiccan in the depths of a gathering of Bible Thumpers was interesting. Eric himself has matured wonderfully; he manages to come across as very solid an professional, all the while harboring a deep well of covert craziness.
Younger son Dan (20) hides behind an "aw, shucks," personality, and a lopsided grin, but there is a lot underneath, much of it most clearly visible by reflection in Quin, his lady of the last three years. I have met her two or three times previously, and she continues to impress the hell out of me.
Consider the following snippet of conversation:
Pete: My parents are both in sales, and each make more than $100K.
Quin: But do they have souls?
Quin: But do they USE them?
I also got to spend a little time with my brother Tim, who wants me to bring the boat down to his neck of the woods; I need to do that. Also managed to get in a little conversation with Tim's son Tim (21), who is fighting his way into adulthood. Family gatherings always remind me of how neglectful I have been of my family...
Bereaved widower Dave embodied a phrase from "The Mote in God's Eye": A bag of glass. I have known him for 45 years, and I had nothing really to say to him; my thoughts on death and the afterlife, and the meaning of existence (or the lack thereof) would not have been welcome. C'est la mort.