If you read my husband’s blog (see "Peephole", left), you know about the letter his mom received from his brother’s friend up in Boston. It just goes to show how individuals can touch our lives in very strong ways, even years later. It’s ironic that this happened now, and that he wrote this blog entry, because I had just received a phone call telling me that a man I’ve known for 30 years has died. A man I met when I was in nursery school, playing with his daughter.

She and I were best friends for years, even after we started different grammar schools. We went to camp together, we watched Little House on the Prairie together (or called each other when it was on if we couldn’t get to each other’s house), we had great times together. I lost a tooth in her living room, and her apartment was the first place I was allowed to walk to alone. I remember watching The Secret of NIMH for the first time in her parents’ bedroom, and making horrible concoctions out of random things we found in my kitchen pantry. Our parents became friends and spoke even when she and I weren’t around. Eventually, we went our separate ways, but our parents still remained the closest of friends, attending our weddings and having dinner together frequently.

The funeral was this morning. There were lots of people there, because he touched so many lives – as a mentor, a friend, a beloved man.

I remember a lot of people from throughout my life. I remember the ways in which they touched me, the ways they affected me. Because really, I think that’s the ultimate goal in life. Wealth and comfort are certainly something to strive for, if only to take care of your loved ones and to have fun in life. But more important is the thought that all we really have are our memories of each other. I hope that the memories people have of me make them smile. (Except for the girl whose ass I kicked in third grade. She was a bitch.)