The Cookie Gang

 Dear Zig, Charlie and Weldon,

I have this group of friends. You know them well at this point. We have been together since elementary school. We met when we were about Charlie's age in fact. When you are friends with 15 women for that long you go through some shit. Fights. Forgiveness. Marriage. Birth. Divorce. Death. There were years when I lost touch, to tied up in myself to realize that my most important relationships were falling by the wayside. But they stayed by me. Those summer weekends when I go to visit them are so important. You see why. I come home happy and laughing. Someone’s daughter is being bullied. Someone’s husband isn’t rising to the challenge. Any question or fear or joy I have can be shared and understood by them. We spent our childhood together. Awkward goofy kids making each other laugh and keeping secrets. And you know the Cookies. You know how we are all different. It’s not as if we all share the same politics/faith/beliefs. We don’t. But over the years that has fallen away a bit. I have held their new baby’s in my arms and we have stood together at funerals. All that life gives and takes. We do it together.


I watch the friends you bring home.We all do. Together we wonder what relationships might become what we were so lucky to be given. Everything you kids experience, I rifle through the moments with them. How did we handle this? Which of them will know what’s next and how to help? And they always do. They visited your mimi when she moved into a home. They embraced Rob and how he loved me. I held one of their hands as we went through “geriatric” pregnancy together, and survived. 


This letter is to remind you to be aware of the ones you let in. The ones you give your moments too. Don’t be afraid that those friends are different from you. Do they forgive? Do they apologize? Do they stick with you? Hold fast to the ones that do. 


This letter doesn’t do these incredible women justice. I wish Inhad the words. I don’t. I can’t. It’s too precious.Never lose touch with my Cookies.  They will be your “Mrs Rhodes.” They will hold you in the moments Dad and I can’t. They will remind you who I was when I disappear. 

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