When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.
– Henri J.M. Nouwen
I want to remember every detail of last weekend.
How we met at the airport and held each other in a fierce embrace. How time just slipped away and the distance between this time and the last time we met didn’t matter at all.
I want to remember how the conversation moved freely between reverent and profane, sacred and sarcastic. How we talked about love and loss, how the past has made us who we are, and what our dreams are for the future. I want to remember all the moments where conversation wasn’t necessary and how good it felt to have her company. I want to remember how much fun it was to show her some parts of the city; walk, talk, laugh, drink champagne, dance in the company of friends, and deepen our friendship.
Cynthia is graceful and eloquent. Her stories are heart-breaking, funny, engaging, truthful. Her beauty and presence invite me to truly live my life… try… feel everything.
Most of all, I want to remember that this is just the beginning.
When you realize how perfect everything is, you will tilt your head back and laugh at the sky