We're off to my mother's for another long weekend. Someday I may blog about what fills our time down there, outside of the obvious keeping my mom company. There is work to do. Plenty.
This evening just as I was arriving home, an old friend pulled in the driveway. She had been the Costume Lady at the high school theatre. Her daughter graduated with The Boy. I had not seen her since the kids left for college. Two and a half years ago. But news of her came to me through the gossip chain. Like I'd heard her son, two years behind her daughter, had attempted suicide. Then I heard she'd survived a bout with breast cancer. Did I ever call? Hell no. I was too absorbed in my own pathetic empty nest haze. Some friend I am, huh?
She came in, we chatted. Or rather she talked, I interjected occasionally. It was nice. Wendy arrived home and joined us. My eyes gravitated to the scar on the top of our guest's right breast. Her scoop neck blouse did not quite cover it. She joked that her new boob had recently been installed.
Wendy and I received some news tonight. Not from our visitor, but from The Boy. I'm still absorbing it. I had no idea such simple news would inspire such emotion. Completely caught off guard, I am. In a damn fine way.