Talking on the phone with a long-time friend this afternoon, I got to thinking about the achievement that is lifelong friendship.
My friend Jennifer Meier and I have known each other since 7th grade. She sat in front of me in Mr. Baker's general science class. Neither one of us remembers much about his class, but we recall vividly how our friendship was born.
I needed a pen.
Jennifer had a spare.
I didn't say our beginning was a spectacular one. It has, however, withstood the test of time.
We've been in each others weddings. I was at the birth of her son. We've made renegade runs to West Texas to visit her relatives, folks who took me in like I'd been born one of their own.
Together we've ditched unruly boyfriends and friend-friends. We've wrapped houses. We've engaged in minor vandalism. We've slept over at each others houses, eaten freely from each others kitchens, and talked about every single topic known to man not just once but many, many times.
We've spent a lot of time sitting under black lights listening to really loud music -- long before this was a popular feature of trendy clubs. Those are years of my life I'll never get back, but at the time it seemed so important to just sit, listen, and think (inasmuch as one can with Led Zeppelin blasting at 140 decibels).
We've slept out in line all kinds of weather for tickets to see our favorite rock bands.
We've camped all over south Texas, again in all kinds of weather, because we could.
We've always promised that if either of us needed to kill an unwelcome visitor, the other would bring a shovel to help dig the hole -- no questions asked.
She's a public school teacher -- one of the finest -- and has always encouraged and supported my choice to homeschool.
We once ran into a high school -- no, really, we ran into the building itself -- on a three-wheeler her West Texas uncle loaned us. He made us promise not to ride through the town cemetery. We honored his request for the most part. Her mother told us to stay off the highway. That just wasn't possible.
It's a wonder we've made it to adulthood.
Even though I graduated from college, I didn't go through the whole cap and gown ceremony. It was such a privilege to attend her's when she graduated with her Masters in Education.
Lately, within the past three years, I've started attending her family tragedies. Jennifer lost her mother two years ago, her beloved stepson just last month.
Both times she told me I didn't have to make the two-hour drive to the funeral. I told her I couldn't NOT make those drives.
I've been fortunate these past several years. Potential tragedies in my own family have either been non-existent, easily mitigated, or postponed indefinitely. I hope Jennifer doesn't have to make the two-hour drive to see me for unpleasant reasons any time soon.
So now we're thinking that just as married people celebrate wedding anniversaries, employees celebrate their five- or ten- or twenty-year marks with a company, or parents celebrate the births of their children with an annual party, we should start planning our own 40th Friendship Anniversary party.
We'll both be 53 by then, but Jennifer says it'll just make all our old stories that much funnier.
She knows how to make those video slideshows so I told her I'd bring all my old photos (I was always taking pictures) and she could put 'em to the music that moved us way back when.
"All the other people in the room will be sittin' there wondering why those photos are so funny and why we're the only ones laughing so hard," I said. "Yeah," she said, " that will be the best part of all!"
Oh, and we've agreed we're going to take a trip somewhere really awesome all by ourselves -- just the two of us, two women of the 50-something persuasion who know keenly and firsthand what it's like to have friends longer than you've had spouses or children.
Where we'll go is anyone's guess, but Jennifer says at least part of the trip should retrace our wild and woolly steps across West Texas, three-wheeler, highschool, and all.
Amen, sister. Amen!
2 comments:
I commented on this the day it posted, but then could not remember my login and I lost what I had typed. I just wanted to say, don't wait until you are 53.
I had a friend like you describe. We, too, met in the 7th grade; we were in band together and so the journey began. We were majorettes together starting in the 8th grade. We were inseparable throughout high school, roomed together in our brief original foray into college. We double-dated, she went on our camping trips with the family, went to extended family gatherings. In fact, I have no doubt that you actually met her on more than one occasion. We had joint graduation parties. We worked together at Lion Oil for almost a decade before I went back to college. We were the maid/matron of honors at our weddings, and gave each other bridal and baby showers. I even filled in as her Lamaze coach until her husband got to the hospital at the birth of her first child. She was that one friend that you knew would always be there. After I went back and got my teaching degree I taught at the school (which was K-12) where both of our children were in school together. Matthew a year ahead of her son (they both went to the same college and graduated at the same time) and Brooke (born on her oldest son's birthday) was in the same grade, and usually same class, as her younger son. I ended up teaching her oldest son while at PC.
We moved from El Dorado just after my 40th birthday, so for 27 years we had stayed very close. Of course after we moved we had the telephone -- I even bought a special long distance plan that would allow for lots of long distance talking to folks back home.
We had our accident on her 53rd birthday. I remember at the hospital when they were trying to see if I was lucid they asked if I knew what day it was I replied, Yes, it is my best friend's birthday, but I don't remember if I mailed her card. She didn't get to come to see me at the hospital, because she had been fighting cancer for several years and was having problems again. When I was in El Dorado and we last had lunch I remember what she said when I began to tear up when she was getting out of the car -- She said, It's ok really, however it turns out I'm OK. She was a strong Christian who displayed the utmost strength.
I never got to see my best friend when I turned 53. She died the December after her 53rd birthday. She was 53 and one and one-half months old. I didn't even get to go to her funeral as Steve was still on the platform walker and couldn't stay by himself and besides being still in rather bad shape myself I didn't want to leave him with someone else.
I sit here and cry as I write this wishing I had the chance for one more lunch, one more gossip session. True friends are hard to come by. She was my oldest and dearest. I have had four true friends (I thought it was five, but one turned out to just want what I cold do for her) who I have felt I could truly open up to and be the real me, regardless of what my day was like and they would still love me whether at my best or at my worst. One died several years ago, not long after Daddy. She was 50 years old, died of breast cancer. The second died at 53. I have two close girlfriends left who I have known for not nearly as long as Carol. Brooke will say something about my friends, and I have often made the comment that I have many friendly acquaintances, but few close friends.
Thank you for your post, and for letting me walk down memory lane. I hear Steve stirring around in there so I must hurry and blow my nose and dry my tears.
Again, cherish your friendship -- it is precious.
I'm really glad you shared this story. It's a precious reminder to cherish what we have when we have it. I, too, suddenly lost a friend last fall and she was only 38. What I wouldn't give for one more conversation with her. My only consolation is that I knew her at all and that I get to keep the memories. Those longstanding true friends, though, are the rarest of all and many folks never have them. I've never understood why I got one or what I've done to deserve one, but am humbly grateful nonetheless. And for my family with its many smart, talented, courageous, and hardworking members? I'm humbled even more. Love you.
Post a Comment