The first time I saw a dead person I was five. It was not in the horrific way that many young folks see such a thing; it was at a funeral. A family friend passed away, and my father and I traveled to attend the service. I feel disappointed to say, but I have no idea who was buried that day now in my 30's...
What I do remember is that I was incredibly distressed. It was obvious to me from the rosy color of this individual's cheeks that they were still alive, and were about to be buried alive! I was, of course, totally wrong about this. I did not understand funeral make-up or that my words were upsetting if anyone were to hear them.
I held death in my hands and found that there is no way to position your fingers so that does not sting. I have many words for this experience now, but then... All I knew was that if this person was truly gone, then we all would be one day. I looked at my father, impossibly strong and obviously immortal, and shook in my little boots. My dad would die someday, I realized in terror.
To quiet his sobbing niece, who could suddenly not speak her feelings out at all, my uncle took my hand. "Let's take a walk," He said. We ended up in a gift shop, where my oldest friend and I found each other. Meet Elizabeth!
I've had this pal for nearly thirty years now! She is absolutely my oldest friend, and perhaps the one that set my standard high for all the ones that were to come after. Her fur is matted, she has repaired rips in various places... but I will NEVER part with this cat.
She was set in my arms in a moment that I will remember forever, and she rarely left them for the years after. I hugged her while I slept the other day, as silly as that may be. I still love Elizabeth.
How much does friendship mean to me? EVERYTHING. I am a blindingly loyal person, if you can manage to inspire such a thing from me. It is not easy to be my friend, I do not trust or bond easily. I tend to write people off in the hopes that they do not hurt me, and that has been proven again and again to be the right choice. A much as I find beauty in this world, I also find it's opposite.
You can say that I am then my oldest friend, as stuffed animals do not talk... You would be wrong though, and I'd find myself graciously agreeing. I don't really enjoy professing how nuts I am... yet. 😂 Sure, I'll do it here anyhow— there were many days of my life that I had no one but her to talk with. I was an "only child" living with a dad who had to move us constantly.
I was lonely and she made sure that I could move through that.
In general, I do not discard anyone or anything without a reason, and I (perhaps foolishly) expect the same. The blanket she sits on in this photo is also nearly thirty years old. It is a brightly colored Rugrats blanket that is perfectly functional. When I needed a blanket, I picked this one from the linen closet. So what if it is embarrassing for a 32-year-old woman to have a cartoon blanket?!
I hate buying anything, ever. And besides, no one comes over my house who I feel I have to impress. I've long done away with such people in my presence. So, a functional blanket was all I needed.
If I thought on it, I'd have 100 things to mention in response to prompt 2 for this week... Yet, I am here to talk about friendship actually. I think a good friend sees your heart no matter what; is on your side in the moments that it is the least easy to do so. Loyalty is proven in chaos.
A great friend and I sat on this Rugrats blanket together on the edge of my bed a while back. We shared things that the other didn't really agree with, but supported, nonetheless. She's the only friend I will take time to spend with these days in person, everyone else I like lives elsewhere. That is because we have grown together through so many things, shared so many experiences, faced adversity hand in hand. A true friend remembers who you are and loves you, no matter what.
Friendship is a treasure, one that we hold in our souls. At my age, I don't care much for making new friends. I like people; I need to see what is in their hearts to want to bond though. Younger me might have some choice words for this development, and I'd let the little lass have her tantrum. She got us into all this sort of thinking, but I wouldn't tell her that.
I don't regret that I once was so open, nor will I regret doing the opposite. I will keep sharing the parts of me that I am comfortable with, in all of their vulnerably odd "glory", but I protect my heart now. I choose my friends wisely, as I hope they also choose me.
This is my response to the weekly prompts from the Ladies of Hive community. 🤗
