My therapist retired and is moving far, far away. Well, a mere 357 miles away.
According to Google, it’s a short 6 hour drive if no one gets in my way, or I don’t have to stop for coffee or bathroom breaks, or to stretch a cramp out. This is a huge difference from the mile or two I usually drive to see her.
Chris and I became friends by accident. She was a church secretary while I was a church volunteer in the children’s department. One thing led to another and soon we were meeting on a regular basis.
That’s the beauty of friendship. . . it takes hold and develops while we’re not paying attention. Until it just is. Feeling like it has always been.
In the early years we met mornings before work. Sitting next to the metal walls, shivering, at McDonald’s. Skidding all the way there on ice because neither of us would think of missing our time together.
We’ve mostly met in evenings after work. . . because I’m NOT a morning person and Chris allows me that. We’ve talked each other through several job changes and lay offs. Family problems, concerns and celebrations. Personal problems. The sorrow of deaths and the joys of marriages and grandchildren. Birthdays and holidays.
And now retirement.
Together we have grown as mothers, grandmothers, and friends.
We often joke how much money our husbands have saved over the years because of our cheap dinner date therapy sessions.
Our last session was Thursday. After 3.5 hours I hugged Chris goodbye not knowing when I was going to see her again. It was hard. (My eyes still well up thinking about it.) I understand why she is moving. (Doesn’t mean I have to like it.)
After 34 years of our eyeball to eyeball conversations I will have to get used to this life change. I will especially miss the hugs that came with the knowledge that there was a shoulder just down the street to lean on. That street got a whole lot longer today.
We have spent half our lives holding and encouraging each other through faith and prayer. That, my friend, won’t change.
I love and miss you already.
Until next time. . .