"My Glory Was That I Had Such a Friend"

Too many decades have rolled along since English Lit days to recall the story behind Yeats' words. No matter. To write such a phrase, Yeats' friend must have been really something. A true friend--one who sees beneath the surface and isn't repelled. one who doesn't scurry when the path turns brambly and dark...who knows your stories, your shiny moments, your crummy choices, celebrates your fleeting brilliances, and challenges you to reach higher, be better, think straighter.
The kind of friend who discounts her own pain out of concern for yours. Rare. Exceptional. But a friend like that isn't confined to the pages of the classic pen.
My 88-year-old mother has "such a friend." The two have been best friends since toddlerhood. They, and their bunch of friends known as "The Girls" shared a lifetime of memories, adventures, griefs, laughs...oh, how they could laugh. A few years ago, determined to capture their story, i did my best fly-on-the-wall imitation at one of their reunions. Attempting to follow their chatter was like trying to dance on a field of daisies without disturbing the blooms. After fifteen minutes i turned off the tape recorder, put down my notebook, and simply soaked up the moment. Delicious! Several threads of conversation interplayed, interrupted only by the occasional pause for a breath. The stories, hilarious and endless, started with childhood memories, wound their way through teenage adventures [my favorite is the time they sneaked out to the USO dance, resulting in a frontpage photo in the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, which further resulted in a tongue-lashing from the church elders], then boyfriends, marriages, and all the ins and outs of adulthood. These were Depression children who grew up to face a world at war. To a woman, they saw life as a glass half-full.
Their sweet stories, so innocent by today's standards, completely entranced this fly on the wall. On one occasion, the girls decided to get their friend LG in trouble. They each planted a Revlon red kiss on his face--all over his face. He was terrified. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped away all the lipstick. Then his terror turned to panic--he realized his mother would see the evidence in the laundry. So the girls conspired to save their buddy. They convinced LG to drive out to a country road. There, in the moonlight, the girls and LG dug a hole and buried the offending handkerchief. Seven decades later, they're still laughing about the lipstick handkerchief.
That gathering was one of The Girls' last get togethers. Soon, age and time began to catch up and slow them down and their stories began to end. Virginia was the first one to pass away. then Milly Jo...and Mary Lyn...then Clara Mae.
Now, only two remain. My mom, Lois Jeane, and her best friend, Doris Ann. My mother's mind is fading--she dwells in confusion most of the time. And she calls Doris Ann just about every day. Several times a day. Lovingly, Doris Ann accepts the circular dialog typical of dementia patients. Doris Ann's mind is healthy and strong. But her heart isn't.
Last night she called me. I think it was a farewell call. She talked about her diagnosis and her future. "I've had a wonderful life, wonderful parents who taught me to love the Lord, a wonderful husband, family, friends...I'm happy." She talked about loving me and my family--"Be sure to tell all of them how much i love them." But mostly, she wanted to talk about her friend, my mother. Facing the end of her life, this remarkable woman is concerned about her friend. She knows that another loss will not only be tough for Mama, but will add to her confusion. "I've tried to help her understand," she said, "But you'll have to help her, i think. Make sure she knows that I'm happy, I'm ok. And tell her how much I love her."
My mother's glory is that she has such a friend: Doris Ann.