“Like No Time Has Passed”

Barbara: Is that a midlife thing? Running into old acquaintances or meeting up with old friends and standing back and marveling that “it’s as if no time has passed at all”? Or do we all find ourselves doing that?

Well, I can say this for myself: I hear these words coming out of my mouth a lot more now than when I was in my twenties!

But it also really feels like it could be part of the whole space/time continuum thing, you know? That no time has passed. That we’re living everything simultaneously.

Just this weekend, dear college friends who we haven’t seen in at least a decade decided to heed the call of friendship and drive 4 hours so we four could catch up. It was long overdue. No one felt guilty about it, but we all knew it was time to turn back some time.

 We hadn’t been together for more than five minutes before each of us broke into huge grins and announced that, you guessed it, “no time had passed”. We were chatting and laughing and reminiscing and cracking jokes (well, the guys were … as you know, I’m no quipster). And even though of course we looked different, we didn’t look at all different, you know what I mean? Like it was the same gang as 25 years ago, with the same attitudes, wearing the same clothes (I mean, that was the 80s, but I don’t remember any of us rocking shoulder pads or Flock of Seagulls hairdos back then), even looking the same age. It was as if those rose-coloured glasses you always hear about had just popped on and all we could see was our mutual––youthful––love and affection.

Okay, Dave probably had more hair back then. And Phil too. Come to think of it, I probably did too...

Of course, after so much actual time having passed (after all, there are grown children to prove it), there was a lotta catching up to do. Some of it was the “laundry list” of “we lived there then there then here”, and some of it was the major brush strokes, “I did this then that and a little of the other”, and there was definitely some “this was a dark time” and “that was life-changing”. But there was just so much just … hanging out, being silly and laughing like we always did, like it was a Saturday night during the college years, us mawing down at the local Chinese restaurant and scrounging our pennies together to see if we could afford a beer to wash it down.

Thanks, my dear friends Dave and Nancy, for taking the time to visit and for reminding me that as fast as time seems to fly, it can also stand still and marvel.

Deb: This is splendid, Barb, really. What a great and rewarding experience that must have been for you guys. I have a dear friend. Let’s just call her Carol Ann, for that is her name. She and I were friends as little girls and then remained friends through high school and then lost touch. There was never a falling out or even a lack of interest. We just fell away from each other. Over these last ten years, through a series of circumstances and mutual friends, we came together again. And the time I spend with her online and face to face is so special, so connected, that I shake my head with wonder that it wasn’t always thus.

That Old Gang Of Mine

Deb: “And the last to go will see the first three go before her.”

So said the Wicked Witch to Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz.

This was always the most terrifying part of the movie and, even as a young child, I got it.

Dorothy’s impending death wasn’t as horrifying to her as the thought of watching the death of her friends. That would be the real torture.

Deb's gorgeous parents

My Mom and Dad just lost their last dear lifelong friend. The last of their gang. The last of the dear friends who were around to hold my brother and I in their arms when we were born.

My own pain around Stan’s death was deep enough, but it was watching Mom and Dad that really broke my heart.

Stan was 89, looked 70, and was projected to outlive us all. He was a true gentleman in the truest sense of the word. A kind, warm, engaging, spirited thoughtful man who never had a bad word to say about anyone.  He looked like Dean Martin and stood a handsome 6’4”.

When I posted his death on Facebook, I said, “Stan George, 1922 to 2011, and yet not long enough.”

I know it sounds odd to be shocked at the death of an 89-year-old man, but we were. Because Stan had found the secret to life and the evidence of it showed in his every gesture.

My parents loved this man so much. Even the mention of Stan could bring a smile to their faces. They would light up, just at the thought of seeing him. He never disappointed either. It’s not easy to live up to your hype as any actor knows, but Stan surpassed his.

And now he’s gone. They are all gone, that old gang of my parents. And Mom and Dad are alone. They of course have their family, close and extended, all of whom they love and every one they are grateful for. 

But the gang is gone. 

A while back Dad said they were thinking of having some friends in for a wine and cheese evening. Dad was having a good week physically and they thought it would be fun to host a small gathering. Suddenly they looked at each other, saw the irony, and started to laugh. Not certainly at the fact that there was no one left to invite, but at the fact that this had somehow caught them by surprise.

Can you imagine this?  A time of your life when your friends are gone. All gone? I would not even try as the thought is unbearable.

But there my parents sit, engulfed in memories of skating parties and New Years parties and swimming parties and precious phone calls filled with laughter.

I remember each and every one of their old gang. They are right there in my mind’s eye as I watch from my pajama-ed perch on the stairs, my Mom and Dad and their group of dear friends, dressed to the nines, laughing and dancing the night away in the unfinished basement in our home.

Barbara: Oh, Deb, I’m so sorry for your loss and that of your parents. It’s amazing how powerful those memories are, those of our parents reveling and enjoying their dear friends. Why do all children gravitate toward that energy like moths to flame? Is there one among us who doesn’t remember some form of late night eavesdropping, listening intently to gales of laughter and clinking of glasses, quintessential music counterpointing every beat and rhythm of their celebration?

I am loathe indeed to contemplate all my friends being gone one day. Thanks god for these glorious days. I do not take them for granted!!

Love to all, xo