Time Well

It’s almost the end of the year.

But it is also the end of more than 365 days coming to an end.

It is the beginning of a new cycle of life that begins for me with the loss of another friend, and I begin to wonder,

How did life pass by so quickly when I wasn’t noticing?

How did I suddenly reach this pivotal juncture where I am saying so many goodbyes?

When did I grow old without noticing?

Rose Ferrara said goodbye to this world gently this morning, less than a week after Christmas.

She and her husband, Sal, were the best friends my husband and I had in every sense of the word.

They didn’t disappear when illness overtook my strong Anam Cara, and never hesitated to be on call when needed either for assistance or just companionship. Sal brought the doughnuts, and Rose brought home cooked pasta. They knew we weren’t hungry but their kindness fed our increasing anxiety and fear.

Neither of them abandoned me after that autumn morning when I stood listening to two young Marines play taps for my beloved in Pinelawn Cemetery

Now it is the end of another year; another chapter where I find myself walking a path in life and feeling increasingly alone.

Without warning, I suddenly recall the laughter, along with the many moments of pleasure the three of us shared throughout so many years.

I also remember some of the anguish when both men, FBI agents, were often away from home unexpectedly and holiday plans went astray. I remember a degree of comfort when I knew the two friends were together.

But I also can’t forget the parties. There were so many and time seemed to stand still when there was music, and children’s weddings and abruptly, retirement and the excitement of second careers.

Suddenly, we were celebrating significant anniversaries, and then lazy Vermont vacations, and not a cloud was visible even on the horizon.

And I hadn’t tasted loneliness yet. I didn’t think to look down the road, or if I had, I pretended I did not see beyond the dangerous curve up ahead.

Rose and Sal were just a bit older than Art and I, but far wiser than me. They both managed to live every moment of life despite age and increasing infirmities. Age never became their mantle. If they wore one, it became invisible when they spoke or laughed or sometimes just listened to another’s problem. They were always available to help a friend, and they both had many.

So today even while my heart is heavy, I know I can make a choice. I can remember the inspiration that was their enduring gift to the friend who has been left behind, or I can mourn.

I know which they would prefer, and as I have for so many years, I will heed their example.

I will remember both my friends and smile with gratitude for the blessing of having known them and shared part of their remarkable time on this earth. They spent it so well.

Until that juncture in the road where we meet again, dear friends, you remain in my heart.