Sometimes oldest friends are the best. The ones who knew us before we became who we are now. There at the best and worst of times, the thick and thin. The dear ones we pick up with again like no time has passed at all, thumbing our noses at the truth.
There’s that laugh, that familiar cheeky expression, that reliably bent sense of humour. We are girls again. So deeply comforting it is that some things never change. Beyond treasure is to still have them and the all-too-rare times spent catching up face to face.
It was in amongst this joy of catching up, dinner and drinks, banter and laughter, my precious friend let me know: her mother was really not well. That was one month ago.
Hard to talk about and hard to find words…everyone manages in their own way. For the family at least, there was a little time to adjust, accept. They were all able to gather.
On Thursday I drove out of town for the intimate farewell. With little else I could do, I was pleased my quietly independent friend would have me.
“Forgive me if I get lost, won’t you? Either way, coming to hug you. I’ve never done this before xxx”
“That makes two of us.”
“Oh Babe xxx”
Twenty minutes before I arrived at the house, the local radio station played a classic Simon and Garfunkel tune. Only that day, it carried an immense significance: it sang of heaven, and blessed her by her very name. I’d no one to turn to, to witness that star-crossed moment. But it was a gift that made her husband and children smile to hear of it, when I was able to convey my heartfelt wishes.
At the house I saw no tears, but laughter. Stories, photos, cake, humour and love. And at the end, a grateful look in familiar eyes that were thanks in themselves.
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