Remembering one's youth is fraught with emotion. My friends and I immersed ourselves in memories this weekend.
We confessed our deepest insecurities, replayed our riskiest moments, realized that all our families had their hidden (and not-so-hidden) demons. We reveled in our luck at making it to fifty-seven years in good health, without unbearable loss. But we counted our losses too: parents, friends, babies. We discussed the other kinds of losses we'd suffered, those harder to measure their absence: close relationships, innocence, love, trust.
It was hard to part with these friends who have known me for so long, for the safety they afforded me this weekend, for the unconditional love we have for each other. I felt their loss as soon as they drove away. I honked twice, they honked twice, then they disappeared around the curve to their respective cities and lives.
It made us want to get more of our old friends together, this small taste of memories. We're already planning. I know it won't be as long this time, because it's clear from our remembering that we don't have all day anymore.
1 comment:
Your tables are always so beautifuly set - and your house always exudes peacefulness. They were so lucky to spend time with you - and within it.
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