See you next year.....

Parting words, times three, on July 9, 2013.      We had finished lunch at the Dorothy O'Day Pub, and were promising each other that we would meet again next year to continue our annual ritual.  I know it's not unusual for people to stay in touch with each other for an extended time, but I've had a number of  friends  in my lifetime who have been lost in the passing of time, so the three of us comprised the longest lasting circle of friendship I've known.
      We came to know each other in 1965 when  the cycle of retirement affected a rural school and a large number of young teachers were hired in a single year.  There were a number of us hired and as it turned out most of us were in our 20's and unattached.  So we had several years of interesting social interactions.  Barbara and Valerie were fresh out of service in the Peace Corps, each having been assigned to different countries in Africa.   Since I'd had nowhere near the experiences they'd had, I could well have felt intimidated, and probably would have later in life, but then we were on the level playing field that accompanied the bond of youth.  There were about a dozen of us in the same period of employment category, but the three of us were the only ones who stayed in touch with each other on a regular basis.    Most of the others moved far away, or else their circumstances led them on differing tracks. Valerie and Barbara maintained sporadic contact with a few geographically connected to them, and we recalled them in memories at our lunches.  Pat, an exchange teacher from England during that time, returns to the USA every 5 years or so, and her former host family invites "the group" to  a gathering where many more attend, though, at her last visit, there were some who demurred due to health issues.
     The three of us met in the restaurant, with no knowledge of what had befallen us during the year since the last summer's lunch.  Previously we'd shared news of our different jobs, our children, and then our grandchildren, as well as catching up on news of  people we'd known.  But this year, our conversation took a different direction, one not so familiar to us. 
     It turned out that all 3 of us and also Valerie's significant other, had undergone knee surgeries in the 2013 calendar year.  Valerie's friend had a total knee replacement in January, Valerie had TKR in February,  Barbara had had laser surgery on her knee in March, I'd had a TKR in May.  We even compared knee scars in the ladies' room.  We'd all had different stories, and though I don't believe  we had any desire  to focus on our health issues, it was quite interesting and even fairly amusing to swap tales.
   That would be the last time the three of us would be together.  Even today, at Barbara's lovely memorial service, Valerie was not present, but on a trip to Italy scheduled to offset the tough winter her friend's health problems had levied on them. 
    There were over  a hundred people at the church where the memorial was held, a service which had been arranged by Barbara in the scant four months between diagnosis and death.  There were no pastoral clichés at this service;  every speaker, every hymn and every passage were personally applied to the uniqueness of the person she was.   Her brother, her two children, a young second generation cousin who had been tutored by Barbara in French and was graduating with highest awards in that subject, were all visibly moved by their loss. Her brother and others commented on  the irony of Barbara's having taught AARP sponsored Defensive Driving courses though her own driving record was notoriously bad made me remember what she'd said to me at out last conversation.
      She'd told me that after she'd had  a serious accident in which her own car had run over her leg that she was going to sell her car and not drive anymore, on advice of her doctor and family. I said that type of accident, where her car had slid out of gear, could have happened to anybody.  Her words were, "Well, Mary, my driving record is far from stellar."   She had a way with words.
     Tomorrow morning she will be interred in the Cambridge Cemetery, next to her husband. They said she  considered Cambridge her home because that's where she raised her family and buried her husband.   I'd been planning to attend, but am now having second thoughts.  I ran out of tissues during today's service.  It's somewhat strange, I suppose, but the parts of the service that are intended to be comforting are the parts I find most heartbreaking.