I spent 4 hours chatting with my grandmother in-law last night. She’s 79 years old and chock full of 79 years worth of wisdom and life stories. One of the stories she told me really grabbed my attention. It was about the power of true friendship and why real friends always maintain a unique connection even in each other’s prolonged absence. The story went something like this…
I grew up in Jamaica Plain, an urban community located on the outskirts of Boston, Massachusetts. In the 1940’s it was a wholesome, quaint little community. It was my home and I loved it there, back then I thought I would never leave. My best friend Rose and I used to collectively dream about raising a family of our own someday. We had it all planned out to live next door to one another.
Our dream remained alive through grade school, high school, and even beyond. Rose was my maid of honor when I got married in 1953 to the love of my life, Dick. Even then she joked that she was just one perfect guy short of being married, thus bringing us closer to our dream. Meanwhile, Dick aspired to be an Officer in the Marines and I fully supported his ambitions. I realized that he might be stationed far away from Jamaica Plain, but I told him I would relocate and adjust. The idea of experiencing new places together seemed somewhat romantic to me.