Real Life

I lost my oldest friend two years ago in December — by that I mean that she and I went back to 7th grade, something I cannot say about anyone else. I lost my mother when I was thirteen and this woman, Sally, was the only person in my life who had met her. We were both Army brats and our fathers were friends. My father’s career took us to Germany twice and hers took her to Iraq. We spent many years apart but came back together as adults.

When we left a place I always managed to shut a door and move on. If I hadn’t I would have been overcome with grief. Our three-year stints went on until I graduated from high school in Michigan. That’s why I had only one friend in my life who ever met my mother —

Today, doing yoga, I was overcome again. I miss her so much. We hadn’t seen each other for several years but it didn’t matter. She was my tether to the unknown, the mystery and our connection to the divine. She was a Sufi, an animal lover as I am, and also a realist. We talked about our dreams, Jungian style, and the strange happenings in our lives. I have the sense that this world we are living through now got to be too much for her.

Six months ago as I was just waking from sleep she came to me. It was like a phone call. She said, “Hi Virginia, this is silly Sally.” My name is not Virginia but we both grew up in Virginia, went to the same school. Her real name was Sara, but Sally…