Tuesday, January 22, 2013

too much water under the bridge?

Last night I woke at 12:30.  Or at least eventually I woke.  I tried to stay asleep.  But I had a song playing over and over in my head--the theme to The Sopranos (or at least the music on the DVD menu for season 5).  And I was dreaming that I had to connect all of the cast members into their families on the show.  It was impossible.  Too much, over and over, until I finally gave up and opened my eyes and looked at the clock.  I got up, knowing I wasn't going to go back to sleep for a while and I was right.

I lumbered into the diningroom, started a fire in the fireplace, and moved into my recliner with a blanket.

So much on my mind lately.  I keep thinking about a friend from the old neighborhood who recently returned from a mission.  She is one of the kindest, most decent people I know, always looking for ways to help people.  Even though she's only a bit older than me, I've often thought that everybody deserves a woman like her as their mom.  Soft and caring and non-judgmental.  Giver of unconditional love.

Two times recently, she's left voice messages on our phone--just calling to say hello and see how we are all doing because she misses us and thinks of us every time she walks to the skywalk that was next to our backyard.

She is genuine.  Good.  Never gossips. Completely without guile.

She sent us a Christmas card that included a picture of her entire family. 

I know I should return her call.  I feel guilty for not calling her back.  It would be so much easier if we happened to see each other at the grocery store or at a wedding reception.  We could ease into a conversation.

But so much has happened in the years since we last spoke.  So much change.  Where to start?  How to describe everything and be as genuine as she is?  It is all too much, even though I know that no matter what I said, she would still love and welcome me and listen to whatever I said.  She would be excited that my children have married well, delighted that we have six healthy grandchildren, good jobs, a roof over our heads and our health.  She would mourn the losses and feel the pain I have felt.  She would share whatever she has if I needed anything.

These are the thoughts I have in the dark of the night. 

1 comment:

Jessie said...

I think you're right, she would just love you anyway. I love that family, and still find myself thinking of them often. Maybe you should send her a message on facebook. Hahahahaha. I know how you like communicating with others on facebook. :) I don't know what else to tell you though. I just figure everyone's lives have kept moving over the years--yours in a different direction than hers, perhaps, but we can still love each other regardless of (or perhaps because of?) the changes.

And for crying out loud, get some sleep.