I was thinking the other day that I am rich in friends.   Truly great friends.  They don’t all know each other, but each of them brings something wonderful into my life.

I have some friends that understand the ups and downs that come with raising a special needs child.  To have someone who lets you cry on the phone on bad days, and jump up and cheer over victories that seem small to others on good days, is not something I take for granted.  They make the unbearable, bearable.

I have friends that live near me that I have met through work or at the schools or clubs and activities that we schlepped our children to.  These friends make me laugh at daily life and keep things in perspective.  We complain together, roll our eyes together and even gossip a little.

Then there are my writer friends.  Writing is such a solitary endeavour that without others who understand the alien concept of a ‘great rejection’, the dilemma of simultaneous subs and the crushing value of the three little words, ‘not for me’, it would not be the great adventure that it is.  There is something magical about a friendship that can prop you up when your confidence falters and kick you in the butt when you need it.

My oldest and dearest friend now lives more than a thousand miles away.  But distance cannot break the connection we have through our memories and shared history.  She knows more of my secrets, embarrassing moments and deep desires than anyone else on this Earth.  That is why I would throw myself in front of a train before I would let anyone administer Sodium Pentathol to her. 

How nice it is to start the year surrounded by so many great people.