Most of my friends are from various parts of my life. I either went to high school with them, or met them in college. Some of them I "worked with 5 years ago" or I met them in graduate school. But there's a very small handful of people in my life that are "lifers." I've known them as long as I can remember, and for the most part, they've known me since I was in the womb.
Today, I got to run my long run with one of them. She and her daughter had come to town for a weekend visit. While they only live about an hour away now, life gets busy, and we rarely see each other. We don't talk regularly, we keep up haphazardly on facebook, and our conversations usually sprout from a weird sixth sense that something is wrong. But I would, without hesitation, give her a vital organ if she ever needed it, and I know she would fight for me if I ever found myself unable to fight for myself. She occupies a thin strip of my heart in between "friend" and "sister." She's family.
Here are the four of us (me, my sister, her, her brother) circa 1985.
They used to stay with us while their mom worked, so there are lots of these tub pictures, which the girls now think are precious, and her brother is humiliated by.
And here we are in my mom's old kitchen holding the sacred cabbage patch kids. (If any of you know who this little boy is, please don't feel compelled to rib him. I'm fairly certain we threatened him if he didn't hold the doll.)
I'm wearing the red pants. And also, this should put to rest any question of where my ditsy nature comes from. I'm an original blonde!
Today we ran 9 miles together and talked about life, love, kids, and everything that comes with them. Our pace was slower due to the fact that we were so involved in the conversation. But really, when you're spending time with a lifer, the whole point is to make it last as long as possible.
I'd have it no other way.
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