Innocence lost

This morning on the way to the Y, my son and I were talking in the car (he's six, by the way). He was talking about a friend of his, who he's known his entire life; they were born only 3 months apart. He said, "Mom, I told Victoria we'd be friends forever." I replied, something to the effect of, "That's wonderful, honey!" but really, the certainty and innocence with which it was stated made me cry. Not just then, but also after my workout, and even now as I'm typing this. It sort of reminded me of the end of the Fox and the Hound where this dialogue takes place:



Young Tod: Copper, you're my very best friend.
Young Copper: And you're mine too, Tod.
Young Tod: And we'll always be friends forever. Won't we?
Young Copper: Yeah, forever.



Anyone who knows the story, knows how it turns out. They grow up. Things change. Their friendship changes. And although they may have mutual respect for each other, their friendship isn't and can never be, what it once was.



If there's anything the past two years have taught me, it's that friendships are certainly not forever. In the past two years, I have had friends leave and people who I thought were friends malign me and my husband; I've had incredible, unforeseeable, entirely unimaginable upheaval in relationships which I thought were true, solid and enduring. Not simply acquaintances, but close friends with which I had shared my deepest thoughts and dreams, and had been through much. The circumstances have left relationships damaged beyond recognition, and perhaps beyond repair in this life. Aside from a miracle, I don't see any other way for reconciliation to occur.



Thankfully, a few steadfast friends remain. (You know who you are!) And for them, I thank God!

Even so, I feel walls around my heart that weren't there before, and an hesitancy to trust people, where before I was willing to trust unless a person gave me a reason not to. Now, I feel as if I can't trust unless someone has proven themselves to me.



I suppose today that I'm simply grieving...for what I've lost, for the childlike innocence that my son will also someday lose. But until then, I'm not going to tell him.

At the Gym

During the course of my workout yesterday at the Y, I noted these reactions:

1. Pity


2. Scoffing


3. Bemusement and astonishment that a woman my size was so incredibly flexible (along with a shake of the head, like "whoa, who'da thunk?)


4. and, a couple of double takes from several young children (one little girl turned around to see me three times), to which I outwardly sighed and inwardly responded, "Yes, I'm fat. Get over it."

Sometimes when I would go to the gym and that would happen (the looks, because the looks inevitably happen), it would discourage me in a big way. Yesterday, sitting on the mat outside the fitness center, feeling very pleased with myself and my workout, (which is when the #4 reaction occurred), this is what came rushing into my mind:

What HOPE feels like

Sweat dripping off your nose

after 30 strong minutes on the Eliptical

when you could barely do seven before.

The way your thigh muscles sporadically twitch

after multiple sets of squats.

The sweet, encompassing fatigue

that follows a thorough stretch.

This is what HOPE feels like.

Take that, Despair.

Nothing deep here!

Just wanted to say that my dear friend has inspired me to blog and be more transparent. So, here I am.....(awkward silence).....um, yeah....that's about it for tonight. Don't fret, though. Deep, soul-baring transparency will follow...eventually.