A Toast

We're old friends. Between us, we've raised ten kids (me 4, her 6)...two of ours almost married each other then thought better of it (then they found their right ones, praise the Lord). We've been through trauma, cried over spilt milk, wiled away the years on our sides of our different worlds with very different husbands as the drama of life spun us into so much cotton candy. Occasionally we call, meet up for coffee or lunch, talk for a few hours, hug, laugh, then part. Time stands still for that bit and we touch hearts as of old. Island friends, meeting up in the middling. 

Ken and I drove up to Rome for their baby girl's wedding. I draped a few flowers and some ivy on her cake, for old times' sake. Past weddings involved whole weekends and marathon decorating schemes, but this one was light work for my part. No diva-ish scrambling, no worries. A small token to say that I love you. She's always helped me with my children's weddings too. When my friend walked into the room, the tears sprang to my eyes, as all the emotions of "lasts" came pushing to the front of my heart. A scrim of hot summer days rolled over my mind, years ago where our family hauled back and forth, helping with the renovation of their country home... our daughters full of hilarity while my boys helped the Dads work. Her four younger babies, like roly-polies in the yard. All grown up now, they danced and jumped like June bugs on a hotplate, grandbabies all around and lives headed into the future like rockets. I've seen a lot of weddings but the bride was just about as tickled as any I've ever seen, and the joy of everyone present was infectious. We were all very happy for the beautiful couple. 

I have been told, more than once, that I have a condition called FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out). It is, I am sad to admit, true. I am afraid that it drives far too much of my life's decisions and yes, indecisions. I resisted my dear husband's wish to leave much earlier than we did, but then I finally acquiesced and we pulled out, literally right before the bride and groom were leaving. We drove by the small crowd that was hailing them, with the energetic young people still jumping and full of zest. I had guilt and much FOMO, later regretting the loss of missing that one little bit of the experience and hoping I did not hurt anyone's feelings (I am actually quite certain that no one was offended). By the time we made it to Villa Rica, I surmised that it's okay for the old folks to leave the wedding before the fat lady sings. And it's even okay not to stay afterwards and clean up.