The first time Judy and I had lunch, we spoke from the heart. She was just re-entering the workforce after raising four kids; I was just exiting to have one. But we didn’t talk much about children.
We talked about ourselves, asking hard questions. Judy was wondering about leaving her marriage. I was wondering about leaving my job. We didn’t know what we wanted—except to become better friends. That was over 40 years ago and we’re still talking.
Even though she moved to New Jersey and then to Arizona. Even though we’ve been through divorces and remarriages, through deaths and births and re-births. Not without conflicts along the way. I’ve let her down; she’s hurt my feelings—but we never gave up on each other.
Now the hard questions are life and death. Judy’s husband died recently and she’s living in a retirement community where I went to visit her.
How lovely it was to jump right in without having to explain who anybody was. Who we are. Our lives have changed but not our need to share them with someone we’ve known over time—especially as time is running out.
“I’m not coming to be a tourist,” I told her, “but to sit in your living room with wine and conversation.” And so we did.