I peeked in and saw her framed diplomas sat stacked, patiently awaiting to be hung. I felt a slight wave of nostalgia as I looked floor to ceiling around the office that star litigator Lindsay was about to make her own. 22 years ago that room first became mine. She would be the fourth of us to call it hers.
In 2000, after 17 years of working in humble suites across the street from the courthouse, the firm made its big move to Little Bohemia. That same season, my husband John got his diagnosis. After years of him defying the prognosis of imminent death, the day eventually arrived when home hospice for him meant a move to a home office for me. My first Angela, the one whose name joined mine on the door, took my place in a beloved space and filled it with her sparkle.
Under her enthusiasm, the firm grew. So did our need for more square feet. Angela had the brilliant idea to buy and renovate the building next door. She did just that. There she wrote books and managed much from a spacious and elegant chamber while allowing another to assume her haven.
Our second Angela was the next to have the view from the west window where one could enjoy the trio of red bud trees bloom each spring. She brightened the energy with contemporary cool colors and her visionary thinking. When Covid came—along with her second baby—the spot sat empty and the world changed. Now, some days she skips the risk of being stuck in traffic and opts instead for remote lawyering with the wonder of technology and the cozy comforts of home.
It’s September now. Soon graduates of law school who have passed the bar exam will stand proudly in our state capitol to take their oath to uphold the Constitution. We are in joyful anticipation of our Jayden being among them. Looking back two decades, I look forward two decades.
It’s a beautiful view.
How do you feel when you let go of something long treasured?
How do you make room for others to follow in your footsteps?
Who is arriving in your world that you can celebrate?