Tuesday, March 1, 2011
We visited some friends we've known for over 20 years last night. The husband recently went through surgery and has been dealing with a long, difficult recovery. We went with hot soup and homemade bread, and sat for a few hours, chatting, reminiscing, catching up. Our friend stayed in his recliner, decked out in a dark blue robe and tucked in with a warm blanket. He seemed in good spirits--and I saw hints of the witty, wise-cracking guy he used to be. Not many, but a few. His wife was as gracious as ever, but she was tired. I could see that caring for him--including some specific care every few hours, night and day, and multiple trips to the ICU and regular hospital rooms and doctors' offices over the last few months--has been wearing. Their home boasts a wide bank of windows that reflect the mountains to the east in the lake below. We sat and talked and watched as the sun set behind us and the city across the lake slowly lit up, like stars on the ground. It was a warm place to be, in so many ways, and made me think about friends and shared experiences and the fragility of living. The light faded from the sky as we watched, and the lights came on as we watched, and there was nothing we could do, any of us, to make it any different.
Posted by Debbie at 2:43 PM