While being ancient, that is, living past the three score years and ten allotment, is marvellous in many ways, I am experiencing it’s downfall this Thanksgiving. The number of people can bare my soul to is limited to one or two. Perhaps. I no longer feel the urge to go back to my birthplace. Those with whom I had deep friendships are gone. No one and certainly not AI can replace the sharing of crazy things we did as teenagers. No one now remembers our emancipation struggles. And so, on a day in which I’m supposed to give thanks and feel grateful, I feel the loss of what I was once blessed with.
Casual friendships are plentiful. Those in which you’ve shared the shattered part of your heart and friends listen until you’re prepared to start mending are irreplaceable. And so, I’m grateful for those friends — Moya, Lyn, Mrs. Wark, Murray, Jim, etc. Rest in peace, dear friends. And, so many, many thanks.
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