What is it they say? You may not remember what someone said, but you will always remember the way they made you feel.

I met Jill when she was 12 years old, but I don’t remember it. She was my sister’s friend, three years younger than me, and what high school boy pays attention to middle school girls?

When Jill started at Hoffman Estates High School, we played in the band together.

She played clarinet.

I played French horn.

She was a freshman.

I was a senior.

Again, what senior pays attention to a freshman?

Well, the answer to that question would be my friend, Jeff.

I spent a lot of time around Jill when she was dating Jeff. I liked the way her presence brightened the room—how she always seemed to bring enthusiasm and positive energy wherever she went.

Mostly, I liked how she made me feel.

During a time when there was a lot of self-doubt, she made me feel good about myself. She proclaimed herself the “president of my fan club.” She believed that good things would happen for me.

High school turned into college. I continued to spend a lot of time with Jill, Jeff and Jill’s sister, Laurey.

I thought we would always be connected, but as happens with young love, Jill and Jeff broke up. The future I imagined at that time wasn’t going to happen.

Jill was attending Northern Illinois University. I had recently graduated from the same school. Though we kept in touch, I didn’t see her as often.

I missed her presence in my life.

My feelings for Jill until that point had never been romantic. But I began to see her as someone with whom I might like to share my life.

But there was a problem.

She had recently dated my friend.

We stayed in touch for a while, but that faded with time and distance.

In Baltimore, I met another woman who inspired me.

We fell in love, got married and had two wonderful children. I wouldn’t trade that experience for anything.

But, after 23 years together, the marriage ended in divorce and I told anyone who would listen that I was done with relationships.

That’s what I said out loud.

Silently, though, there was always the caveat:

“Unless it’s Jill.”

Even though we hadn’t spoken in decades.

Eight years ago today, I sent birthday greetings to Jill and Laurey on Facebook. A couple days later, to my surprise, Jill replied.

“Thanks for the birthday wishes. I see you’re visiting the Midwest. Would you like to meet for lunch?”

We met.

It was great.

We promised to keep in touch and, this time, we did.

I learned that Jill is the same person I loved all those years ago, only better. She grew into a woman with wisdom, passion, wit, beauty and intelligence, and still brightens every room she enters.

But there are even more rewards. There are Jessica and Brittany, who are about the same age as Alex.

I am not their father. They are not my daughters. But we are family, and they have welcomed me into their lives. That gives me a chance to be part of things I thought I had lost forever.

There are Kevin and Nico. Like their wives, they are not my children, but consider me family. I feel the same way about them, and my life is richer because of that.

Then there are Vivian and Kinsley, my two granddaughters.

I stopped imagining the possibility of grandchildren when I lost Alex.

How lucky am I to get this chance?

Most of all, there’s Jill.

I thought it was going to be me and the dogs for the rest of my life.

But eight years ago, Jill surprised me.

I will always remember how she makes me feel.

Loved. Included. Valued. Happy.

It’s more than I ever expected—more than I ever hoped for.

Happy birthday, Jill. I love you.

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