This past weekend I met old friends from two different chapters in my life. The two vastly different reasons for the occasions are becoming recurring themes for my white hair chronicles. They always remind me of my graying hair.
An office mate from my first job lost her year long battle with cancer. She was a
comadre, a very close friend, a confidante. She was a vibrant, colorful personality, definitely a character that you will never forget. When we learned about her diagnosed condition last year, friends and colleagues immediately offered prayers for her quick and full recovery. For a good part of the year, the prayers seemed to work. She regained her strength, her hair and her zest for life. But cancer is such a traitorous disease. It came back to attack her other organs. In the end, her illness may have claimed her mortal body but we, her friends who had a sort of reunion at her funeral wake, know her faith and spirit are unbowed.
Still on reunions - Facebook has brought together my elementary school classmates. A classmate who had lived in Texas for more than half of her life flew into town. She isn't the shy, innocent, prepubescent girl that we knew anymore. She metamorphosed into a sophisticated, articulate, tennis playing mom who can fix flood soaked homes DIY style. Another classmate, who we remember to be another shy girl, has a rather winsome smile and intriguingly fairer complexion in her profile photo. Facebook updates, however, can never be enough. We had to meet in person. And so we did. And we're glad we did.
Thirty plus years may add white hairs and 60 pounds (kilos to some). It may ravage our bodies. But we, my
comadre and my batchmates, no matter what, will always stay forever young.
