Tomorrow Earl and I are driving to Chicago to attend a funeral. My longtime friend Judi just lost her father, and we want to be there as he is laid to rest.
I met Judi’s father, Lester Corso, only once, at a Little League ballgame at least thirty years ago when her son and mine were on opposing teams. Somewhere someone might remember which team won, but I do not. What I remember most is that Judi’s father and my mother, also deceased, occupied many hours of conversation between us over the years. Ours were cantankerous relationships with our respective parent; yet, in the end, both of us were a primary support to a dying parent. And to each other.
I called Judi last night to see how she was faring since I know we’ll not have any personal time at the funeral. Spontaneously we began to reminisce. Not just about parents, but about the fact that the funeral home where her father will be waked is right where Judi and I worked together many years ago. We talked about Randhurst, the indoor mall where we shopped back then. Now it’s being torn down. We talked about such mundane things as Euclid Avenue and Palatine Road. And Memorial Gardens, where Judi’s mother awaits her father.
Judi and I met in 1971. It’s been a rocky road since then in many regards (not about our friendship, but about circumstances); yet we’ve both survived. Back then, it was about struggling to meet mortgage payments, enrolling youngsters in kindergarten, and getting together on Saturday nights. Today our children have grown up and left the family home; our parents have aged and died; and we’ve reached retirement age ourselves. We’re both still working too, for what that’s worth.
Since we don’t live close enough to get together regularly, Judi and I have a standing date to talk every other week with our cocktail of choice in hand. We talk about our current concerns and current affairs and books we’re reading and recipes we want to try and what the future hold. We provide solace with and without advice. We listen. We offer telephone hugs. I hadn’t thought about it until Judi’s father died, but what we’re really doing is holding each other close in spite of the physical distance between us. We’re staying connected. We’re there. It’s worth the effort, because the passing of time makes old friendships even more dear.
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