It ended nicely, my day yesterday did. It started nicely as well. It started with a yawn and a stretch and rubbing Cheyenne's belly while her tail thump thump thumped with glee. It wrapped up with an outdoor fireplace and champagne, watching my nephew pop his first Champagne cork under the guidance of a friend who's been a friend to me, to him, to my family for a long, long time. I told her earlier in the evening that she is the bravest person that I know. She said back to me, We both are.
The space between the beginning and end of Thursday, however, was filled with enough activity and emotion to swell the single day into appearing to be a full week.
I attended the memorial service of a woman I'd known my entire life, a graceful and kind woman who was one of my mother's dearest lifelong friends and whom I always knew as Aunt Suzie. I sat in the same church my family attended, the same church where my parents' memorial services took place, and I watched her three sons shoulder an incredible grief for the matriarch of their family. Each son wore one of her brooches on his suit lapel, a little something that I found delightful and tender. I remembered those brooches. The eldest son wore a silver dragonfly. My mother had the same one, and it sits in my jewelry box. After the service we marveled at that. Did they give them to each other? Did one of our mothers buy it for herself and gift the other with one? Did they buy them together during one of their trips? We sighed. We will never know.
Later in the afternoon, I got my splint removed from my right ankle and in its place an aircast that makes walking a possibility for me now. I thought I'd skip right out of the appointment, only to find that it doesn't quite work that quickly, and I still need at least one crutch.
Still later, I went to friends' house for dinner and a visit. While she cooked, I sat with her sick partner and felt completely helpless when she took a deep breath and told me that she hurts all over, even her skin. Among other things, Cancer is a ruthless stalker.
Dinner was interrupted by a desperate phone call from my nephew. His dog got out of his yard and was hit by a truck. The driver kept going, he said, and Chico was limping and confused, blood was coming from his nose. My heart sank. I gave him directions to the nearest emergency vet and told him I'd meet him there.
When we left the vet, assured that Chico would be fine but they were keeping him for the night to watch him, my nephew and I returned to my friends' house. He hungrily finished the leftovers from our earlier dinner and then the three of us sat outside by the fire, each of us together at the end of three very different days, each of us talking, remembering, loving.
When I got home this morning, this silliness was waiting for me: