The Good Years

As I moved to what would be my final duty station, my maternal grandmother, whom I affectionately call Momo, shared a story about a childhood friend, Margaret White.  They were besties in the 1940’s, in Elmwood, Illinois.

Margaret’s mother passed away when she was in elementary school but her doting father took great care of her and her sister.  If you read, Ju-Ju-Junie in the Middle by me and June Le Masters Davison, you will get a little more insight into their friendship: https://a.co/d/9bPiJmn

My grandmother moved away after the sixth grade and the girls never saw each other again. Momo never knew what happened to her and so when I heard that, I mentally responded, “challenge accepted.” I decided to do a little research and eventually found Margaret White, now Margaret McMeen. 

Her daughter Gloria and I coordinated a reunion for the two women, 75 years later in Canton, Illinois at Momo’s favorite pizza shop, Monical’s Pizza. https://www.monicals.com/locations/monicals-pizza-of-canton/

The women were overjoyed and brought to tears when they noticed each other-as if a day hadn’t passed since the sixth grade. And if you ever wondered if a grudge could be held for 75 years against mean girls in middle school, the answer is yes. You can find her name in the book too.

I don’t think they let go of each other’s hand the entire time.

As we sat around the table eating pizza, Gloria, in passing conversation said, “Mom and Dad had 15 good years before he passed away.”

For some reason, those words lingered in my mind. She was referring to the time they, her mom and dad, had together from retirement until she became a widow. The term, “good years” hung out there for me. I could not unhear it.  

I left that evening thinking about the good years and how people measure that time together.  Both women sat there, widowed with their children.

I wondered in that moment, how many good years we all get?  As we drove away, I mentioned the conversation and my grandmother shared that she retired at 55, she had 30 “good years”. It wasn’t a contest we win or lose, it’s a reflection we have after a loss.

I am not suggesting that there are no other ways to measure good years, but I do think it’s important to reflect on how we spend our time. We need to be deliberate and do our best to make it good as we Break Trail through life. There is something about the wisdom of age that reminds us that the resource is time not money.

I think what Gloria was saying was it was the years they were able to put each other first, ahead of jobs, professions, schooling, children, and all the other moments that take us away from focusing on our spouse or another loved one. The years they traveled and maybe had a little less stress.

I think before that night, I might have said they were, are, all good years but today, today I take none of them for granted.  I focus on making the time, the years, the hours, the minutes, I focus on making them good. I don’t always succeed.  I try not to waste the years because at some moment for all of us, they become past tense and a phrase a later generation will use to describe our time together.