Some great love stories are not of the romantic kind.
Some great love stories do not involve genetics.
Some great love stories do not even need longevity to ferment.
On Friday, I said goodbye to what has become one of the great loves of my life. I’m immensely sad. I can feel my heart has slowed down, as if a beat or two has been robbed from me. I feel I may never be the same.
No one has died. The mourning period has begun, just the same.
Just over three years ago, our paths crossed in simple fashion, over our daughters’ mutual love of live theatre. And, it turns out, our willingness to seek out what our daughters love.
She speaks my native language; I do not speak hers. She’s Danish.
Her husband’s stint at Sheppard Air Force Base has ended, and they’re going home.
We met in audition camp, for our daughters, and ended up auditioning ourselves, a pinky-swear giving us the guts to put ourselves out there.
My first audition, for “Annie,” included our daughters. My next audition, for “Grease,” found her on stage next to me. We belted “Look at Me, I’m Sandra Dee,” and ended up in the cast, playing the teachers to the greasers and Pink Ladies.
Summer lovin’ took on a new definition.
During rehearsals, she offered to treat me to lunch, for my birthday. We talked theatre mostly, initially our common denominator. Conversation was easy. Have you ever met a mean Dane?
The hour flew by.
“Let’s do this again,” she said.
“How about next Thursday?” I suggested.
And there it began. Weekly lunches, mostly on Thursdays, sometimes on Wednesdays, sometimes brunch, sometimes dinner. We took turns choosing the location and paying the bill. Somehow, we always remembered who would pay next.
For three years, nearly every week, I had lunch with my friend. It even has a hashtag.
Sometimes other friends joined us. Our lunch circle became wide; our theatre family even wider. Like moths to a flame, people seem to flutter toward her goodness. I am not the only one mourning today.
Finding a new friend later in life is not easy and not to be taken lightly. They’re rare and to be celebrated. Friendships are hard to cultivate and keep. But, oh-so worth the work.
In 1849, Alfred Tennyson wrote, “’Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.”
The sentence in his beloved poem is often uttered to express the gratefulness one feels when a love story ends, for good or bad. Romantic love.
But Tennyson wrote that line – and that poem, “In Memoriam A.H.H.” – about his best friend, Arthur Henry Hallam, whom he met in college in 1929. According to a biography of Tennyson, Hallam died suddenly of a stroke in 1933. The two had only four years to cultivate a friendship that inspires quotation today.
Some great loves do not need geography to survive. Some great loves transcend time and place.
As we hugged for what seemed like a lifetime, I thought, I would have much rather had known her and felt this sadness, than to never have known her at all.
Love like you never have to say goodbye. Love like you know you may have to say goodbye tomorrow.
Deanna Watson is the editor.