That connection people talk about.

This morning I got an email from one of my oldest and closest friends letting me know that her mother had died yesterday morning, peacefully, without pain, and in the arms of her family.  It got me thinking about my own melancholy day yesterday, and by my own definition of a good day, it should have been a pretty decent day.  I caught up on all my grading, the sun was out, and Charlotte’s party went off without a hitch or a speck of stress.  Still, I felt this heaviness that I couldn’t define and I placed the blame squarely on my annual wrestling match with the seasonal blues. Perhaps, though, there was more to it.  Perhaps there really is something to that gossamer-like connection between people who have been together in spirit for so long.  I’ve always been skeptical about that theory, though, that some people can sense from miles away when a loved one is in deep pain or danger. I don’t know.

We have known each other and each others’ families for twenty-six years.  There is so much shared history between us and among our mutual circle of friends.  Her mother’s service is next weekend, a seven hour drive from here.  Next weekend is the same weekend Aaron is taking the girls to Maryland for three nights, the weekend that I’m viewing as my anchor of relief during these recent sunless and bitter weeks.   The weekend I’ll take a deep breath and renew myself for the rest of winter.

She will come to both of my parents’ memorial services when it is their time.  I don’t doubt that for a second. I don’t know what to do now.  I will call her.  I will ask if she wants me to come to the service or if she wants me to come a few weeks later when everyone is gone and it’s not crazy and she’s feeling alone.  That’s what I’d rather do, but it’s not about me.  Or is it?  I really and honestly don’t know…


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