I really am lucky in so many ways, ironically. After thinking about Gina last night I began thinking about all the wonderful people in my life and how much they all fit into the puzzle of who I am. Each person who completes us has their own way of being with us, their own interaction, their own special place in our lives.
I have this other friend, Kathleen, and I have known her since we were five and six. We met on the first day of first grade, and we have been best friends ever since. She is my history. She knows absolutely everything about me. We still talk at least every week. Do you know what she did when Charlotte died, and she was living in Savannah? She called me every, single day for about three months. She was also pregnant at the time, so I have to give her extra kudos because talking to me must have scared the shit out of her. But she did. She called, and she had the absolute best line. I'd pick up the phone and she'd say, "Hi. What's today like?" Not how are you, which is a question I cannot honestly answer, or what's up, or any of those regular conversation starters. Just, what's today like. And then she would listen, for hours on end, and for months, and months, and months, I never asked her about what was happening in her life, I never asked for cute stories about her daughter, and when her next baby was born (a girl, predestined to be Charlotte's best friend) I could hardly speak to her for my fear of hearing the baby cry, but she was patient with me and respected the distance. This was a beautiful thing.
She lives in Alabama, is a military wife, our political views are polar opposites, and none of that matters. I know she will always, always be my friend. We are planning to go away on a spa weekend this spring, it will be a year late to celebrate our 30th birthdays, but only six months late to celebrate our 25th anniversary of being friends. Hurrah!
At our house today Aoife is seeming a little croupy. She had a fever last night and finished of the night curled into bed with me. Not much coughing but she seems to have lost her voice which I now recognize as a precursor of what's to come. Looks like another week in the house ahead of us. That is fine. I can think of far worse things than being housebound with two beautiful children.
Like being housebound with nobody. Because that really, really sucked. No matter how long I live I will never forget the light in the house, this flat, gray light, as the rain poured down outside and we just sat. We just sat, and stared at the wall, and couldn't believe what was happening as the month of May slipped by. This time in our life where nothing was on our calendar but working our new baby into our life, and she wasn't there, and we didn't have our next move planned. So we sat, and the rain poured down and filled our house with dampness and gray light, and the lilacs drooped and rotted on their branches, and we sat in the house and cried and held our arms tight to our aching chests and felt like nothing would ever bring light to our home again.