My friend's dad died last night.
He had been dying for two years, and she had been with him the whole time, taking care of him, while we, her friends, stood by and watched.
It has not been an easy two years for my friend, nor for her dad, nor would it have been for her mom.
I have known my friend since college, back when the earth was cooling.
We were so very young then.
Sometimes we go for ten years without seeing each other, and when we do again, it's just like your parents said (and you thought they were being silly): you haven't changed a bit.
We run into each other's arms and hang on for dear life, and though the years have added tiny lines to the corners of our eyes and not-so-tiny pounds to our rear ends, we are still as young as we were then.
Today my heart aches for her, and I send up a little prayer, and in my mind's eye, she is traipsing around in sweat pants and pearls, organizing, a fuzzy navel in an opaque cup, too young still for such a job.