I went to see two of my dearest friends yesterday, and the contrast could not be more stark if I was writing the world’s worst fiction.
Tom is surrounded by friends and family in hospital and dealing with a recent diagnosis of cancer. Paul and I both visited yesterday at Peggy’s urging, and I got a little conversation and a hand squeeze out of him, and consider myself fortunate. I never see him lying down; seeing him curled up on the transfer gurney, waiting to be taken downstairs for a procedure, wrung my heart; Tom will never be ‘little’ to me, he’s always been this crane-armed dude. The way age makes us shrink is quite the thing. But it is still grumpy, quick witted Tom that I visited, whatever my biased eyes are telling me.
Tammy on the other hand is staying in a heritage building Airbnb, walking distance from a cute new little restaurant called Side Hustle, and we ate and laughed and drank (the Red Racer dealcoholized beer ‘Street Legal’ is quite fantastic) and although we ate indoors the sun was blasting down through the windows and the breeze was coming in through every door, and it was absolutely delightful. She’s in such a good place in her life (pandemic aside, of course) and it was so good to see her.
