Old Friends

I called an old friend.
Old has nothing to do with age.
Old has everything to do with the longevity of our friendship.
We grew up together.

There were seven of us girls all on one street.
Actually, one girl lived around the corner, but it was the same street to us.
We all went to school together.
We often played together in the neighborhood.

We all lost touch after high school.
College, jobs, and simply moving away separated most of us.
It was the one who was my dearest friend back then that brought us back together.
It was a few posts on Facebook that did it.

A picture was posted and many of us were tagged in the photo.
Since I am not listed by my maiden name, many people had not found me.
Since my first name is a nickname that my husband gave me, I was unrecognizable.
However, being tagged in the photo gave me away.

Is that, Regina? A few old friends commented.
The floodgates opened.
Friends from grade school and high school now knew this strange named woman.
I was actually glad about the revelation.

All the friends I had lost contact with after high school were now in front of me.
We each got a glimpse into each other’s lives.
Conversations about grade school reunions began to surface.
I saw some other friends at our 40th high school reunion almost two years ago.

It was so nice to reconnect.
There were many years since we all were together.
I have seen only three of the seven neighborhood girls over the years.
The phone call with the one who lived around the corner was an important one.

My friend’s husband just died.
He died ten days before Christmas.
She is heartbroken.
She loved her husband well.

I had seen this friend a few years ago.
Her mother, who was very special to me, was celebrating a birthday.
My friend lives in the South and was in town for her mother’s birthday.
Two of us neighborhood girls drove together to celebrate with our friend and her sweet mother.

Her mother is now 98 years old.
She is still incredibly alert and remembered me that day after all those years.
So many memories came rushing back.
I was in the home of my friend’s sister; it was like going back in time with special people.

As I looked at my friend’s mother that day in her special recliner chair, the years rolled away.
My friend’s mother was a nurse.
My memories of her always include her clean white uniform.
My memories of her always include her wide, welcoming smile.

I will never forget my eighth grade picnic.
It was to be held at a local pool that was across the street from our school.
Being Irish, my skin never tans.
I have the kind of skin that always burns in the sun.

Anyone my age will remember how we used to try to get a tan back in the 70s.
We would get a record album and cover it with tin foil to act as a reflector.
There was only one type of sunscreen back then and it came in a brown bottle.
I can still remember the way that particular sun tan lotion smelled.

I wanted to get a little color before I went to my eighth picnic.
I got in a chair that laid perfectly flat and found the best area of sun in my backyard.
If you really wanted a tan, you skipped the sun screen and used baby oil.
Needless to say, for Irish skin like mine, it did not take long for me to fry.

I was not out there very long before I was thirsty.
I went inside.
I happened to see myself in the mirror.
To say my skin was red does not even begin to describe it.

I had sun poison.
What we know today about the sun was not known back then.
I had blisters on my shoulders.
Even my eyelids had sunburn and swelled very quickly.

My mother called my friend’s mother, since she was a nurse.
I remember her coming down to look at my skin.
She brought a couple of tea bags with her.
She told my mother to boil some water and steep the tea.

Her directions were to hold the hot tea bags on my eyelids.
The swelling would go down.
She gave directions as to how to handle the blisters on my shoulders.
I remember her clean white uniform and her wide, welcoming smile.

I went into the kitchen and sat with the bowl of hot water and some tea bags.
I held them on my eyes.
In no time, the swelling went down.
The only problem was, my fingers were tea stained.

I should have put little sandwich bags on my hands before handing the tea bags.
I had brown stained fingers for almost a week.
I missed my eighth grade picnic.
I have been wary of sitting in the sun ever since.

I listened to my friend on the phone as she grieved.
Her mother had been a widow in the years that I knew her.
Her sister had been a widow as well, which I had never known.
My friend has two strong women to help her though this time.

We are getting to be that age.
We are all entering another decade this year.
More and more of this loss is going to happen.
We will be there for each other in one way or another.

We never dreamed all those years ago that we would be the age our parents were back then.
The age of our parents seemed so old at the time.
Time goes on; years pass.
The memories are good ones.

My friend will be all right.
She has good friends and two strong women to come alongside her.
We still remember being young girls together.
Those shared memories are sweet.

There is a friend who sticks closer than a brother. (Proverbs 18:24)

I will be praying for my friend.
I know others are praying for her as well.
Our friendship is something she can count on, but there is One she can count on even more.
I ended our conversation with that Truth.

My friend will be just fine, in time.