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When I saw her last month, my heart raced, and my feet sprinted as I leaped to greet my old friend at Denver’s darling new coffee shop, located next to the botanic gardens.
As dear friends and ladies-of-a-certain age, it is always great to see each other, cherished companions, even more so during this time of a major pandemic.
We got our coffee and goodies and headed outside to a table to chat. Yes, chat, as only two dear friends can.
Taking turns, we filled each other in on what was happening in our lives. We had met several years ago in a yoga studio. She is now in her 80s, and I am in my 70s. I have always admired how lithe and agile she is, her wittiness, compassion, and concern for others, fashion flair, and cosmopolitan life, though she has not traveled far. I have learned so much from this woman and am so grateful she is my friend.
Few people know my most cherished secrets. You know those things I (and maybe you, precious reader) hold near and dear and don’t readily share. My friend knows about these struggles. Oddly, she has had some of them in her life too.
So that morning, we talked about a few health concerns and challenges of being mothers of older children and some of our grandchildren. I shared with her that I was in town to visit a doctor at the hospital where I had worked. I was pretty sure I knew she would confirm a diagnosis I had received some years ago. For the better part of 10 years, I have gallantly tried exercise and diet to halt the condition. I did not want to take the risky medication often prescribed. She looked me straight in the eye and said, “Elizabeth, sometimes you just have to give up!” Funny how I know (maybe you do, too) when you have heard the solution to a problem. Yes, I am now taking the stuff.
Later in the conversation, we talked about a particular characteristic two of our grandchildren share. This phrase from a book I read many years ago popped into my head, “And, acceptance is the key to all of our problems today…..” Yes, acceptance. But, isn’t it nice to share with a friend.
Then, she said, “I don’t ask any questions of my kids or grandkids anymore. If they want to tell me, that’s fine, and if not, I am still fine.”
I received such pearls of wisdom over a cup of coffee in a beautiful setting on a May morning.
The following week I was gardening at my home in western Colorado. Both the sprig of Lambs Ear my friend Jeannie had given me and the clump of Lady’s Mantle, Anna Marie dug up from her garden for my garden, were starting to flower. I remembered these two dear wise comforting women, who had passed recently with tears in my eyes.
Maybe I have enough Irish blood in me to know at a cellular level, these three friends are part of my grandmother group, so to speak, that Amantha Murphy writes about in The Way of the Seabhean. “The grandmothers give us strength; they hold us and guide us at times when we feel bereft or alone. They whisper in our ears….The grandmothers walked through life, experience life, grew through life and heard their grandmothers’ stories. There is a continuity in us that goes back to the beginning. We carry that within our DNA,” page 123.
In our American culture, ladies-of-a-certain-age are relegated to the invisible sphere, but we know how powerful and dynamic we are when we listen to each other.
Copyright – Elizabeth J. Wheeler, June 14, 2021
