Once in a Lifetime (if you're lucky!)

 I don't remember under what circumstances I first met her.

But I know my first impression was of a true lady, a woman unlike any I'd ever encountered.

Isabelle Tamburri was, in a word, brilliant. She was a formidable presence from the first syllable she uttered, setting her apart from anyone else in a crowd. Her diction was crisp, clear and flawless, unmarred by regional accent or slang. She chose her words carefully so as never to leave in doubt exactly what she wanted to convey to her listener.

Eschewing the convention of taking a gift or token when visiting, she and I had our chats in her living room or mine, accompanied by the single bottle of filtered water we offered one another. Most of our get-togethers were supposed to be limited to a couple of hours, simply due to my work schedule. In reality, we usually got caught up in conversation and didn't keep track of the time, so often we sat for three or more hours, lost in any of the myriad topics we explored.

Isabelle loved art. And music. And philosophy. And religion. And Nature. And psychology. And...on and on. An observer might have commented that our conversations were all over the map, that we leapt from one topic to another, and how could that even make sense? 

To us, the conversations were seamless. One thought lead to another, often on an entirely different subject. When we talked about music, I discovered she and I shared a love of the work of Mozart, yet she had never seen the film Amadeus. So one afternoon, feet up on pillows and ever-present bottle of water at hand, she sat in my living room and spent the three plus hours of sheer enjoyment, sharing my love of that movie. At times, especially at the emotional, heart-rending end, we were both in tears. Yes, it was a fictional account and we knew it, but to us, it touched something deep inside and I'll always be grateful we were able to share that time.

After her 91st birthday, Isabelle told me she was aiming for 95. "Then, I think I'll have accomplished everything I wanted to do and I'll be more than ready to go." Her beloved husband Rick was waiting, after all, and she knew she'd be spending eternity with him. 

A series of falls derailed Isabelle's plan. Each one robbed her of more cognitive function and she struggled for the words that once flowed so effortlessly. But her sense of humor seemed sharper, her desire to be with those she loved even stronger. 

When Isabelle Tamburri finally slipped away in a small room filled lovingly by her daughter Sharon with artwork Isabelle either created herself or loved, she left behind sadness that she was gone, but joy that she had lived and given everyone who loved her so much of herself. She once told me she wouldn't be sad about going, only about leaving. Those of us she left are richer for having shared a snippet of Isabelle's life.