The Friend

The friend placed her hand gently in her own. It was a comfort and a surety, even as she felt the life draining from within her.

She knew her candle was flickering, and that soon the flame would be extinguished like the disappearing gold of the sunset. But her dearest friend was here, holding her, loving her.

Quiet peace stole over them both. Warmth and love flowed between them. A thousand memories passed between a simple squeeze of the hand, a silent tear rolling from the friend’s eye.

They did not need words or actions. A friendship that has spanned 70 years needs no more reassurance than the simple presence of being.

They had faced a war together, and lived. They had thrilled over soldiers’ stories, giggled at mutual pranks, shared fears and dreams and the joy of life. They had run and played and danced. They had laughed and cried and fought and made up and hugged away hurts as only true friends can.

When love took them in different directions, the friends parted with genuine sadness, but knowing that theirs was a friendship that would span time and distance equally. They did not know that 50 years would pass before they saw each other’s faces and felt each other’s embraces once again.

The years flew by. Children were born and grew. Grandchildren skipped along as well. Joys and sorrows swirled across both their paths, and all the while, gradually, quietly, age took its toll. Only their friendship stayed fresh and young at heart.

But now, her time had come. Her life was nearing the end of its long and vibrant journey, and her soul ached for rest. For weeks, her body had been painful and uncomfortable and slow. Her days were long, and though friends and family were nearby, loneliness and fear threatened to overwhelm her.

Once again, the friend proved that theirs was an unconquerable friendship, spending hours talking with her, sharing with her, and giving her the simple comfort of her presence. She brought her tea, bathed her, helped her dress – bringing tender care and allowing her to get through each difficult day with dignity and grace. There were tears and anguish; there was laughter and frustration. Above all, there was unconditional love.

Her heart ached with gratefulness and swelled with the knowledge that, even as she faded from this world, she was special and cared for and loved.

The friend held her hand. It was a comfort and a surety, even as she felt the life draining from within her.

The grip was gentle yet firm. The friend was sorrowful but strong for them both. Her heart ached with gratefulness and joy and the sadness that hung in the shadows. Yet it could not drown the love that charged the air, nor conquer a friendship that had lasted a lifetime.

For theirs had stood the test of time and distance and life’s relentless course, and won. Nothing could ever break such a bond, and even death could not rob the beauty and strength of a friendship that was constant and true.

These precious moments were relentless being drawn to a close, yet even now her friend was here. And she knew without a doubt – here was a true friend.

She felt herself drifting away, floating, remembering, dreaming.

“Piera – it’s Francesca.” That dear, unmistakable voice fluttered into her consciousness. She made an effort to open her eyes. “It’s Francesca. I’m here. I’m here for you.” The words fell gently into the air between them.

She dragged her eyes up to her friend’s warm gaze, where tears were trembling in a face that was wrinkled and worn and beaming with love. With all her remaining strength, she gently squeezed her friend’s hand in return.

She closed her eyes and smiled, her hand clasped in the palm of her friend, her soul wrapped in the embrace of their hearts. She sensed the unspoken love, heard the silent prayers.

The friend held her hand, and softly, sweetly, the peacefulness led her away…

How do I know that such a friendship existed? How do I know that a friend could mean so much?

Because the friend is my grandmother. This was her friend’s story. And it is her story. And thus mine.

Dedicated to mia cara Nonna, with love

© Emma McGeorge

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2 thoughts on “The Friend

  1. Jeanette says:

    Oh wow Emma….poignant and beautifully written as always!

  2. Jill says:

    This story brought a lump to my throat and a small tear to my eye. Beautifully written and an awesome tribute to your Nona.

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