When we vowed our eternal friendship as college freshmen, we had no idea what we were signing up for. We were just a bunch of 18-year-old girls living a life in which our biggest challenges were figuring out how many classes we could skip without flunking out, how many beers we could consume without passing out, and how many boys we could kiss along the way.
We grew up (debatable), got married, pursued careers, bought houses, birthed babies, had body parts finagled, lost jobs, siblings, and parents. We found our places in society, dabbling in PTAs, art leagues, floral design, elder care, massage therapy, classrooms, butterflies, blogs, Bunco and book clubs. We created unique worlds for ourselves with different family dynamics, issues, and goals. But every one of us knew that wherever we went and with whomever we lived that the girls would always be a top priority. For nearly half a century we’ve gotten together as often as possible and touch base weekly with a relevant Quote of the Week sent on the text chain. Whether those words of wisdom are ignored, raise an eyebrow, or spark a conversation, they serve as a continual reminder that we are never more than a millisecond away.
Within our group there are different configurations of our friendship. Some of us see each other only on our annual get-together. A couple of us talk on the phone on our morning walks. A few of us keep in touch with another’s children or siblings or friends. But generally, the way we know each other’s families is through the stories we tell.
And sorry, significant others. We talk about you. All.The.Time.
We know which guy is the most likely to ride a bicycle 100 miles for charity, and which one rides just for the joy of pedaling. We know who loads the dishwasher correctly and who has never, not once put a dish away. We know which one does the most cooking, drinks the most beer, watches the most TV. We know who controls the money, who is the most stubborn, who is the most appreciative and the most appreciated. We know who can build a deck and who can’t hang a picture, who is most likely to go away with the guys, and who prefers a solo fishing trip. We know who brings home flowers and who needs a prompt to remember an anniversary. We know who encourages, who tolerates, and who is oblivious to the girl's trips. We know the snorers, the socializers, the skiers, the lovers, and the fighters.
We all ended up with guys who love us madly (how could they not), support our whims, tolerate our quirks, and try their best to keep us happy. Some of us complain louder than others, some sugar-coat more than others, some are more dramatic than others, and there’s no doubt some of us have been luckier than others. But in the grand scheme of things, we’ve all done good.
Every now and again we catch a look at the significants through our own objective eyes. It happens as we are sharing a table at a wedding, talking politics over a bourbon, meeting in New York City, sailing through the Penobscot Bay, or cheering from the soccer bleachers in Central New Jersey.
Suddenly we see a totally different creature than the one we have known through the myriad eye-rolling, snarky, or sickeningly sweet love stories we’ve heard. We see the miser pick up the dinner tab, the anti-social spouse work the crowd, the heavy drinker sipping soda, the perfect partner making a major faux pas. These real-time, real-life insights remind us that the venting, romanticizing, or worshiping words we share with the girls are just words. Words spoken merely for validation, advice, or support from those we’ve loved longer than the men in our lives. And that no matter how much we’ve been told, we will never, ever know what love looks like in any heart other than our own.
But we can get a pretty good idea.
Larry, perhaps the least likely to intentionally screw up a high holy day, died on Mother’s Day after an exhausting bout with a grueling cancer. His first grandson was born in early June so the girls gathered in Atlanta last month to support our friend, Susan, and to celebrate the circle of life with a baptism and a memorial service.
It was a beautiful weekend filled with friends and family and a very funny priest. After all the pomp and circumstance, held in the same sanctuary in which we had toasted Jessie and Chris's nuptials, we reconvened at Sue’s place. Back at the house that Larry had renovated we found ourselves amongst faces familiar to us from the wedding two years prior – perhaps more sober but not necessarily more somber. Humor worked its way into our quips and conversations as we swapped stories with friends and family who each had their own unique relationship with Larry.
There were siblings who knew him since the day he was born, children who knew him since the day they were born, friends who worked with him, laughed with him, and prayed with him. There was the seven-week old baby who was hugged by more hearts in that one day than in his whole long life combined; sugared-up toddlers, lovable Gen Z-ers, multiple millennials, boisterous baby boomers, a 90-year-old great grandmother, and an old, tired dog snoring on the living room floor dreaming of long walks with her beloved Larry.
So much love, so much grief, so many woulda, shoulda, coulda's. Yet somehow through the sharing of narratives, connections, and perspectives, joy found its way in. A video highlighting Larry’s twinkling blue eyes showed us the multiple facets of a well-loved man. He was not simply a father, a son, a brother, a buddy, an uncle, an in-law, a co-worker, a mentor, a coach, a patient, a boss, a cousin, a parishioner, a builder, a fisherman, a dog’s best friend or a best friend’s husband.
Larry's soul showed itself in many different ways.
While contemplating life and death and the myriad layers of love and loss, I've realized that our tears, and grief, and memories are ours alone to have and to hold. Yet no one can lay claim to another person's soul. Because souls are fluid little things, flitting from place to place, person to person, touching down and making their impact in the most curious of ways.
What an honor and privilege it is to witness what a soul has sparked; the inspirations, the convictions, the knowledge, the dreams, the talent, the love, the smiles, the grandchildren. And how heartwarming it is to know that all the while our own souls are out there doing the very same thing.
Perhaps that's all it takes. A bunch of commingling souls working their magic to make sure that we can feel the joy in the midst of our sorrow.
What a good soul you shared, Larry. What a good soul.
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