Inch One Hundred Fifty-Seven: Bonds

"And what about Sam B____?" I asked.

"Oh, Sam retired a few years ago," said Dick.

Sam retired! There are photos of him holding Ben as a baby. Sam retired! But Ben is 31 now, so that is not improbable.

We—Dick, his wife Milly, Warren, and I—were sitting around a table in Chicago having this conversation. I have known Dick and Milly for almost 30 years; they are friends from long ago when I lived in Stockton, California.

Way back then, Dick worked in the county Public Defender office with my then husband. Milly and I both had law degrees and very young children.  Paths diverged. We moved to Ohio. Dick became a judge. Milly continued her solo practice. I practiced law, got divorced, became ill. Our boys grew up. Life went on.

The bonds of friendship held. I last saw Dick and Milly (and their sons, then in their late teens) in 2006 in Cleveland. When Warren and I got married two years later, they sent us a hassock of camel leather that Milly had brought back from Egypt or Morocco. (Dick and Milly are world travelers.)

Over the decades, we exchanged Christmas cards and an occasional phone call. [Note: A Christmas card from Dick and Milly is a mini-travelogue. Seriously.] We'd talk of getting together but they were in California and we were in Ohio. "Get to Chicago," I'd urge, "and we'll drive up to see you."

And that's what finally happened. Last weekend they flew in and we drove up for a much anticipated reunion.

We had a long weekend of food and talk, of storytelling and catching up, of comparing life notes and telling jokes that even Warren, who'd just met them, soon joined in. After one final breakfast together Monday morning, we all hugged hard and went our separate ways. It was wonderful.

In my past life, I was frequently criticized for "hanging on" to old friends. Anyone qualified: friends from my childhood, friends from my college days, friends from anywhere. My ex-husband would accuse me of "always dragging along" people from my past, implying that I had some deep, unhealthy motive for keeping these relationships.

As we sat at breakfast Saturday. laughing and talking, I saw a table full of those I'd hung onto from my past. (That includes Warren, incidentally.) I didn't drag any of these friends along into my life. Instead, it was the bonds we'd made over the years that brought us together: bonds of friendship, bonds of laughter, bonds of love. And here we all were, making new bonds, strengthening old bonds, and celebrating all of the bonds, past, present, and into the future.