Talkin' to Bob

No, I'm not writing about that.

As a sophomore in college I rented my first studio apartment. At the time Bob lived in the same apartments. We met outside at the picnic tables in the shared courtyard and struck up a conversation. I was 19, he was...let me think...somewhere around 54? 58? Newly divorced. The late summer nights were still long and humid and we saw nightfall outside together many evenings as we got to know and love each other.

Whatever you're thinking, you're probably wrong.

Bob became one of my best friends, very intellectual, intelligent, open-minded. Over the years we have discussed religion vs. spirituality. We have discussed politics. We have discussed aging. Some days we drove from Wichita to southeast Kansas in the springtime, simply to drive and talk and view the redbuds and dogwood in bloom in the beautiful corner of the state. Eventually I married (he attended the party at which Carl propsed to me as well as my wedding months later), moved to that same corner of Kansas, and welcomed him as a visitor.

When I had children, we discussed parenting.

Then two years ago we both went through difficult times and stopped calling each other. Neither of us felt animosity, we simply became "busy" or preoccupied. Or whatever. I'm not sure what he would say.

I blogged earlier about my healing summer. Part of that healing, for me, is renewing contact with people who are important to me. I've realized with the tragedies and premature deaths that my community has experienced recently that nothing is guaranteed. I would regret losing Bob. So I called him. We've already visited at length and I'm looking forward to our next conversation and his next visit.

I've been talkin' to Bob again and it's like a balm.