One of my best friends ever came to see me this past weekend. I hadn't seen her since February. Before February, it had been over a year. It was a good visit.
Friday evening we stood on my studio porch talking about the changes to the house in the past year and a half since they've been here. During the conversation, the door came up and I mentioned how many people didn't realize I'd painted it. She said yeah, it was different when they were here before. After a time, she finally realized that the door is a painting - just a painting. It's really a big flat hollow core door. But that didn't fit with my southwest idea, so I painted it and made it a panel door with a window. I've had students come and go through that door for months and one day say " Oh my gosh, it's a painting!" I take that as one of the highest compliments I could receive. My friend stood right in front of it and laughed as she ran her hand over the flat surface. "It's a painting!"
In the early 80's, I went through a divorce and family break-up. I eventually gave in to attending a singles organization and met another lady who had gone through a messy emotional separation and was getting a divorce. We had children of similar ages: she had 3 boys; I had 4 girls. We began visiting and hanging out together. It was support during difficult times for us both.
Eventually, she began coming around less frequently. But it was okay, because I had become friends with a fascinating man whom I would later marry. One evening, late, she called. She knew I wasn't an early settler, but she asked if I was okay to talk. I said "Sure" and she began telling me about a guy she was interested in. She didn't give his name but told me she was afraid she was getting serious and she wasn't sure how she felt about that having been through her past relationship. Listening to her talk, I knew how she felt about it, though I would never have said so at the time.
A few weeks later, she called to tell me she was getting serious about this guy and gave me his name. He was my new guy friend's house mate. I told her who I had been talking late with after coffee and we had a good laugh and a good talk.
They married that fall; we married a year later. A few months after their marriage, her husband was diagnosed with lymphoma and given 6 months. He was one of my husband-to-be's best friends and would remain so through the next 6 and a half years of cancer treatment. The four of us grew very close. We camped, played cards, sat in the hospital, cried, prayed, laughed together. His death was hard on us all. After his death, there was a rift by no ones design in the friendship. Then one evening, she brought a friend by. Eventually, they married. We became close again: a new foursome.
When I graduated with my teaching degree, she was there. When I went through heartbreak with family, she was there, when I had a car wreck, she was there as soon as she knew. Gradually her marriage, her life, my busy schedule, my family all took a toll on our friendship and we began moving different directions physically and socially. We had a fifth daughter at home still. Her kids were all grown and gone. We were surrounded with grand children. She had two by one son and has only recently had her third.
They were in the settled, thinking about retirement crowd. We were in the junior high and high school parent crowd. They talked about golf and tours, we talked about gymnastics and cheerleading camps. They bought more prestigious homes, we bought braces, cars and prom dresses. They went on cruises and trips to resorts; we took camping vacations with children and grandchildren to inexpensive places. Our ideas of fun had also changed. We looked for adventure; they looked for comfort. For over a decade, we bought tickets to the University of Arkansas football games together. Then they dropped their tickets for more freedom and we went on alone.
Over the past few years, we've seen each other less and less. They've made new friends and so have we. Yet this past weekend, it was as though we were back in the early years. We played cards until 2AM, got up late and ate a leisurely breakfast. It was fun, sweet, sentimental. Once again, we hugged and promised to bring back the contact. We'll go there, they'll come here. It's important. In my mind, I know they'll get busy, we'll get busy. In my heart, I hope we can keep all those promises.
Friends like us are hard to find!
