the legacy of friendship

I read an article recently that having good friends can greatly increase your health and your life expectancy. Kind of crazy to think about, that making friends - and keeping them! - will help you live longer. I forget where I was reading this, but it was a study conducted by Harvard over decades and decades, so it was legit- just go with me on this.

My good friend Nancy Simpson was the leader of a mentoring group in high school that I was lucky enough to be involved with. You can actually call her Dr. Nancy - she has her doctorate in psychology, or counseling, or both - bottom-line, she has advanced degrees and really knows what she's talking about when it comes to people. And she taught us this: you're very fortunate, in life, if you can count your close friends on one hand. She made it clear that true friendships, deep friendships that last for years, are hard to come by. She said, if you have two or three GREAT friends, you're actually very lucky. And she was correct. (Susie Gold was the other leader of that group, and though she doesn't have "doctor" in her title, she taught us equally great lessons, too.)

I've been thinking a lot, these past few weeks, turned to months, about friendship. The people who are there for you for the best and the worst, the people along for the roller coaster ride as it hits highs and lows...

It blows my mind to think that many of the friends my parents had at my current age (28) are the ones loving me so well and getting me through the mess lately.

When Jay Chenoweth left our Earthly lives, there was giant Jaybird shaped hole in so very many lives. Hundreds- I cannot even list all the people that miss Jay greatly. But I know my parents were definitely on that list. My dad spent countless nights at M.D. Anderson with Jay as he battled cancer, and after he was "gone," my dad was quick to share Jay stories, to keep his memory and presence afloat in our world, in the world of his sons and his wife Mary, and the friends they all shared.

My dad mentioned to us often, even after years had passed, that he still picked up his phone to call Jay. Though Jay was younger, Dad often called him for business advice. (And also to share inappropriate jokes, I'm sure.)

Jay and my dad aren't coming back, not to this planet. And that just plain sucks. But their memories live on in those that tell their stories, tell their jokes, talk about them. It's painful, and it hurts, but in their absence we are left with the relationships they built to keep us going, to cry with us, to laugh with us.

Jay's son, William loves to give me a hard time in the same way his dad did. I remember in high school on a spring break trip, anytime the phone rang at our rental house, Jay would pretend it was for me, that it was my high-school almost-boyfriend calling. I finally declared there would be no more talking about this boy, because it made me blush bright red and such, so Jay just started calling him Fred instead of his real name. "Ney-ney! Fred is on the phone for you!!" He and my parents found this hilarious. "What do you think Fred is doing today?" he'd ask me at breakfast.  

William and I were texting recently and I mentioned that if he didn't watch out, I'd tell his girlfriend stories about him when he wasn't around.

He texted back: "Go for it. Soon you'll have children and I'll be telling THEM stories about YOU." He is such a punk, but he is right: our families will be friends through the next generation, no question.

I miss my dad immensely, true. But his friends, the friends he met in junior high (JVT) and later in college and after, they continue to love us and push us to keep living and not be overwhelmed or bitter by loss. My mom and dad's friends make it so much easier for all of us - for mom, for me and Gentry, and for Drew and Amy, too. And I know Tom's grandchildren will feel like they knew him by knowing his friends.

A few of the Memorial dads that my dad worked out with on a regular basis got together and gave Drew and I a tree for a wedding present. A whole, huge tree that will grow to be giant, to thrive for years.

My dad loved trees. He planted trees at our first home when both me and Gentry were born. Trees that are huge and still there today. Many of my best memories with him are being outside, playing outside, in Houston or Colorado or the Hill Country. And just because my dad is gone from the Earth, doesn't mean he doesn't live on through the people that knew him and loved him.

What better gift to give a friend, than to continue loving their kids and wife and family after they're gone?

I look around now, at my closest friends, and I think, gosh I am blessed. And in turn, so are my children, who aren't even born yet. Because my friends, they'll be loving my children even when I'm gone.

A friend of my grandfather's sent an email on the anniversary of his death this year, and it was so meaningful to all of us. It was a great retelling of some of their adventures together and some of his favorite qualities about Aubrey. And it was so comforting to know that it was not just our family missing him that day, or thinking of him. My grandfather's friends were aching, too. His friends remembered him, and shared those memories with us.

The legacy of friendship. Oh, ain't it sweet.

who are your people, your besties? be sure to love on them today.