Yesterday I wrote about breathing, that blessed act of in and out. I wrote to remind myself because over the weekend, I drew deep deep breaths, and I want to keep remembering how that sustains me.
Every year I spend a long weekend with some of my dearest friends in the world. Our time passes so quickly, and I love them so much it hurts. And they elevate me. We all make each other better.
We’ve shared life together since we were high schoolers and before, and as we get older, we joke like we always did. And we think we are the funniest people out there.
As the years pass, we slowly realize we are talking more about wrinkles and plastic surgery and bladder control and children nearing our height.
I don’t know how this happened, but I know how much I love growing older with these sassy and brave broads. I’m proud of them like they’re my kids.
The years pass so quickly now, and yet the distance between grows smaller.
These three days each year, I breathe so deeply. I want the days to last, and I want to know every prayer, story, back rub, hug.
We breathe in time together, us girls.
Breathe deep gulps of salt air and fudge and licorice and Whirly Pop and gingerbread waffles.
Breathe woodsy smoke from a crackling fireplace.
Breathe harder when we walk into wind that pummels faces and when we laugh so our stomachs ache.
Breathe staccato breaths through cries of joy and pain and growing and wanting more in this life.
Breathe amazed and exhale long when we see the sun break over the ocean and the sky shine blue.
So memories are my breath today.
I love you, girls.