Good Grief

Today I went to a funeral. My best friend's mother died. I haven't seen any of these people for 22 years. It was nice to be greeted from across the room with a smile and a wave. I guess 22 years don't change us that much. I talked to my best friend. I told her, "Oh, my God. You are a grandmother! You are a grandmother to not one, not two, not three, not even four but five grandchildren! And look, that one there is over 6 feet tall! Both your kids look like they're doing well." The funeral was very strange for me. One of her brothers had the bald pate, the fringe of dark brown hair around the sides of his head and the thick mustache - he looked exactly like my best friend's father did in 1970. And her daughter had the dark hair and exact face of my best friend. The daughter is about the same age as my friend was the last time I saw her. My best friend's twin brother and little sister had the same perceptive eyes and gentle kindness as they did when we were in high school. My best friend's family has this manner of speaking. They raise their eyebrows when they talk. When they come to the end of a sentence, their eyes widen and their chins jut out just a little bit. I can miraculously see my best friend when they talk and that warmed my heart. I haven't spoken directly to my best friend for 22 years because in February of 1989 she died. Her illness was depression. Today we gathered to grieve for her Mom but I was grieving the loss of my best friend as well. I miss her very much. Some photos of my best friend were displayed in the back of the room. There she was as a baby with her twin laying on a blanket. There she was in a family photo surrounded by her brothers. There she was as a teenager sitting on a motorcycle, grinning. She doesn't know I have a motorcycle now. There is a photo of her children standing by her gravestone. After the service I went to the club to work out. I don't think I've ran that fast on the elliptical ever before. I lifted more weight and completed more repetitions than usual. Every press on the handlebars of the weight machines dispersed more of the anger and grief that I hold.  I shed more than a few tears today in a good and healing grief.