Just got home from a wake for an old friend. Mrs. S. was 92.
Since reading her obituary in last week's paper, I've been reminiscing about the old days at my dad's church, where Mrs. S. was a member. She always smiled, and she was so beautiful.
Everyone at the funeral home today remarked about what a wonderful life she lived. There were no tears! Not from her daughter, nor her grandkids (who were my friends in school). No doubt there have been tears this week. But not today. Not when someone as sweet and happy as Mrs. S. says good-bye. Her husband, who died just a few years ago, would have been 100 this Tuesday, the day after her funeral. Will they have birthday dinner together Tuesday evening?
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Today I saw old girlfriends I didn't recognize, some thinner, some heavier, all getting older, like me. I saw an old boyfriend who looks smaller than I remembered, another old friend, now a doctor, with whom I played an unforgettably funny Bingo game. I saw parents of my teenage friends who are hunched in old age. In each face there is something that stirs my memory. The strange sweetness of my childhood. The familiarity that is no longer familiar.
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These friends, 30 and 40 years since I've seen some of them, are living and dying, and I can't help but wonder, what kind of footprints will each of us leave? Dear Mrs. S., good-bye!
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