Today is my mother's birthday, and I have hardly gotten to say hello to her. Tomorrow is the day we (begin to ... ?) find out whether my friend is dying of pulmonary fibrosis.
My grandmother died of PF.
My dad did.
It is simply, literally beyond my comprehension that a friend I have known since I was a twelve year old girl ... could die. I love her so very much. She has been a friend like none of my others; winsome and silly and all the things we naturally love - but her heart is unnatural. It is wide and kind and utterly loyal. She has for a husband a man with one just like it. Her friendship is a gift I have been thankful for, has spanned across thirty-one years now. We were little girls when we met.
We still are.
She is a woman of a depth of generosity I have always admired; she is brash, and wonderfully crass, and has a mean streak just as wide as mine. She is pragmatic - and romantic. But for her friends - and I am one of the oldest - she is the deepest well. She was there for me when dad died. I can hardly bear the thought of being there for her when she does. Of being there for her husband, who is also, so truly, so deeply, my friend.
Please pray for peace.
Pray for my beautiful, bitchy, batty, and beloved friend.
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