Two phone calls.
One call lasted one minute, seven seconds; the other eleven minutes, twenty-two seconds; the visit five days.
This week, I got to say “I love you” to three of the girls I grew up with.
And they said it to me.
It was simple, yet powerful.
It lifted me up.
We’ve gone through just about everything together: playground feuds, slumber parties, bra freezing.
Graduations. Weddings. Births. Deaths.
Miles now separate some of us, but we remain close.
Last night, as I hung up the phone with one and emerged from the quiet hiding place of the garage, I was struck by a sense of thankfulness.
To have heard their voices. To have shared conversations.
One was brief. One carried on for hours and days.
Not text messages. Not emails.
They brought to mind all the things we’ve been through; and the things we have yet to experience.
Their voices and the conversations connected us.
They brought a sense of togetherness.
Near and far. High and low.
That feeling of thankfulness has carried me into the weekend.
I’m thankful for our long, rich history and for all the times we’ve shared fits of giggles and buckets of tears.
For the chance to say —and hear—”I love you.”
For the sound of their voices.
And for love—and friendship—that doesn’t end.