I think of Lucy, our dog, I wonder if she'll remember us. I wonder if she'll hop up in our arms like she does and give us a rare Lucy kiss, which means she really likes you, she loves you.
Some time ago on our way to Colorado for the first time with our dear friends, we made a stop in Kansas City to drop their daughter off at her sister's for the week. Their family, with two bright eyed blond children came running out of the house. Our friends went running out of the SUV where they collided in the yard. Tumbling down in the green grass, laughing, hugging, cackling, giggling, so enormously happy to see each other, as if it had been years, ages since the last time. It was like one of those family portraits of everyone barefoot in blue jeans with white shirts come to life. I stood there dumbfounded. I had never seen such display of sheer delight at being together again. In a way I felt like an intruder, watching their precious moment. In another, I couldn't help but behold the rightness and purity of it.
That's how I imagine it, when I think of someone and seeing them again for the first time in so long. Email, cards, packages and Skype are wonderful for now. I am grateful for technology. But there is something about being present, being at the party, being across town that is irreplaceable and meaningful. Hugging for real and helping with the meal. Picking up the wrapping paper scraps and running over to set up the garage sale.
It brings me comfort on nights like this when I long to be with someone who knows my insides and outs. I think of bowling them over with my love and tumbling right down to the green grass, laughing all the way. So happy to be together again.