Six of us sitting around a table in a nice restaurant. Maybe as much as twenty years difference between the youngest and oldest. We don’t ask about age. Fish tacos, salads, a burger ordered. A few look tired, most are having a good day. One open chair because someone had to work.

Serious personal challenges stir under the calm surface of at least a couple of the women, but those may remain unnamed. Before talk turns to general interests, pictures of grandchildren pass around the table spreading the happiness tiny ones generate. Dogs and landscaping photos are admired. We are inspired to share our own child-rearing and volunteer work with young kids, funny stories of pets, grumbles about critters eating hostas and geraniums and hydrangeas. We relax in the warmth of our regular monthly gathering before iced tea and sodas are delivered. Much later our discussion may move to deeper topics. Usually move to deeper topics.

I can’t speak about how the guys gathering for breakfast on Thursday mornings settle into their friend time. I’ve watched out of the corner of my eye more than once. They’re drinking coffee, eating large amounts of food, laughing, listening quietly, voices loud then back to conversational level. Back pats as they leave. Most digging keys out of pockets as they head two by two to the exit.

We don’t leave as best friends forever, but we carry away a small piece of caring for each other, a bit of comfort from the time passed together, reminders that we are not on the journey alone. 

This is my first blog written without the presence of Rocky, our family companion, who passed in August. He also appreciated the company of others.