Recently
after I dropped my grandchildren off at school, I drove over to Medicine Lake
for a relaxed stroll along the lake, taking in the beautiful fall colors. I had barely gotten started when a good
friend of mine called with startling news—her son had been killed in a car
accident a few days earlier. I grappled with any meaningful words to say. She had gone through so much over the last
few years, but this had to be the most devastating occurrence of all. How could I begin to imagine what she was
experiencing? Having three children of
my own, the loss seemed incomprehensible.
I offered my heartfelt sympathies and told her to call me day or night.
Early the
next week I called to invite her to lunch if she felt up to it. We met at a favorite lunch spot and had a
memorable time with the little boy she takes care of. She had gone back to work that day. Then we drove to a delightful, quaint
Minneapolis playground. While her little
guy played with other kids, my friend and I sat at a park bench and just talked
for several hours about her son, the exquisite fall day, and our memories of
days spent together when we both worked as nannies. And there were plenty of silent moments, but
they weren’t awkward; they were very
poignant. I will never forget that
afternoon, and I doubt that she will. We
ended the day at a little ice cream shop.
When it was time to leave, there was a realization of what this day had
meant. As I drove to pick up my
grandchildren, I understood the fragile nature of our lives, but the richness
of it as well.
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