“While I was waiting for you before, I made this list. All the people that brought food. Or flowers. Or anything. The ordinary, average, worshiped her from all the pageants people. They get a note.”

I’ve gotten to know this person called Jean Russell pretty well over the last few weeks, diving into the words she says, delving in to her life story. What began as painting in broad strokes has evolved into more detailed brushwork, and as we get ready to welcome our first preview audiences on Thursday, I find my mind occupied with the minutia of Jean’s day-to-day world.

Rachel brought in the perfect bag for Jean — big enough to be a “mom” purse, but small enough to be appropriate for a special occasion — and I’ve been contemplating what lives in Jeanie’s purse besides the obvious wallet and keys. A book? Mints? Gum? Tissues? Hand wipes? Snacks for the kids? All of the above.

And the thank you notes – part obligation, part expression of gratitude. I asked Michelle if I could pick out the notes Jean uses, and so I took myself shopping. I found the perfect notes: elegant but not frivolous, sold in bulk quantities because goodness knows Jean has a lot of notes to write and not a lot to spend. And while I was in the stationery aisle, I started looking at sympathy cards. Of course Jean received tons of them, from her mother’s admirers, from all the people in Nebraska’s fourth largest town that knew and loved her. Some of them were lovely – heartfelt and simple, offers of support, expressions of love and concern. And some of them were Just. So. Awful. Saccharine, flowery, simpering eulogies overflowing with gushing praise and bad poetry. And just like that, in the middle of Target, I had a new understanding of what the past few days had been like for Jeanie. She must have opened and read dozens, maybe hundreds of these cards. Some would have made her cry with their sincerity, some would have made her gag with their syrupy sweetness. But all of them would be from people she knew, people reaching for the right words to convey their own feelings of sadness, people trying to connect in the face of unexpected loss.

I know most audience members won’t notice or think about the cards. But now you will. Won’t you?