A feisty little-old-lady lived across the hall when Peter and I moved into our apartment in Cambridge four years ago. Although a bit frail, she walked into Harvard Square every day for coffee. She did not endear herself to me when she asked me if Peter was my father, but I forgave her. And she didn’t hesitate to ask him to help her deal with her 20,000 unread emails.
She often spoke about all her friends being gone and her hope to join them soon. Although she no longer lives here, I think about her losing friends because it’s starting to happen to me.
I lost my best friend, Peter, almost a year ago. My closest childhood friend’s husband died a month later. And last Saturday there was a celebration of our biking companion and dear friend Gordon’s long life which ended last month.
Although I have many friends who are fine, we are all concerned about those we love. We remind ourselves that no one gets to live forever.
Each day is a gift. We are grateful for the present.