Not about knitting...

I figured the name had better be the disclaimer - I have a lot on my mind, that needs to come out, you've been warned.
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Forty years, I am thirty eight.

A good family friend died on Tuesday, we buried her earlier today. A friend my parents met just before I was born. A friend who has been there for births, and christenings starting with mine and most recently Anna's 7 years ago, weddings, funerals, graduations, clam bakes, cookouts, New Years Eves. I have the card they gave my parents when I was born, I have an Irish knit cardigan she gave ME when Anna was born.

You know when you read a fortune cookie you are supposed to add "in bed" after you read the fortune? As I read this lovely lady's obituary, I found myself adding "with Maureen" - so many of the things my own mother has done in the last 40 years has been shared with this woman. My heart breaks for my Mom.

They got themselves a lot of press a few years ago in my hometown, when each week in the local paper, you could count on a letter from my Mom one week, and letter from her friend the next. They would stand up at Town Meetings and Selectman's Meetings and rock the system of a somewhat corrupt Town Administrator...they were rowdy girls. Some might say they were responsible for the crook to beat it out of town at last. At 60+, good for them.

I was struck last night at a vision of my own self, in 40 years or more. My wonderful friends, after we've raised our kids, after graduations, and marriages and sure, even grandkids. I thought of the day coming when I never could sit and have conversations with any of them again.

My heart broke for me. I love and cherish my friends so much, having grown up with both of my parents showing me the value of friendship and lifelong friends, my life today could never be any other way.

I remember at my Grandather's funeral, his best friend, standing all alone at the church. Can you imagine being the last of your friends still alive? They had buried all of their other friends together, now he was all alone.

Maybe, just maybe, I've had too much loss these last 13 months.

I also had a moment when I drove into the cemetary - I was amazed at the names on the headstones. Gomes and Nixon, Craig and Charron, Muscato and Charis, Brophy and Freitas, Harkins, Walton and Gallagher. The family names of my childhood and family friends, flashes of Saturday basketball games, and Sunday church. Junior High dances and football games on Friday nights in high school. The warm, jolly chuckle of Valentine P. Muscato. People who are missed. So many days I have stood in that very same cemetary, those names are of my friends who died young, never having had the chance to graduate college, marry and make their mark. Lives not lived. Buried there are the brother of one of my friends, who died in a college accident, and 2 young ladies who died after sudden devastating illnesses before they reached the age of 18. Buried there is a friend, one of two killed at the same moment, on a Super Bowl Sunday in 1988 when they were hit by a car while crossing the street. There are at least 3 mothers who died long before their children had grown.

This is the cemetary where my parents will be too someday. I will stand there on a day sooner rather than later. I have been lucky to have both of my parents with me, they have seen me grow, and seen my kids. I am thankful. But being thankful doesn't mean I will ever be ready.