Allison and I have an unusual friendship. We’re best friends, and yet we live over three hundred miles apart. “What’s so unusual about that?” you might ask. That in and of itself is not out of the ordinary; many best friends have had to move away from each other and keep up their friendship long-distance. What makes our friendship unique is that neither of us had to move away: in fact, we became best friends before we had even met each other in real life.
For a while, I’ve been very interested in history and farming. Granted, I live on a farm, so let’s say I’ve had plenty of encouragement for that interest, but I’ve found both fields extremely fascinating and enjoyable. When my Granddaddy decided to visit his sister, my Aunt Susan, in TN last month, I asked if I could join him and go see the farm that he grew up on in the sixties.
She closed her eyes and took his hand as he led her through the woods. The snow crunched under their feet as they walked together, and the wind whistled through the trees. They stopped, and he let go of her hand. He told her she could open her eyes; and when she did, he was on one knee in front of her. And he had a ring.
It was seven years ago in January. I remember sitting in the audience, watching Rebecca and John being united for life. It was a momentous occasion – not only for them, but for me. It was the first wedding I’d ever been to. I don’t remember too much about their wedding because I was just a kid, and kids don’t notice the details, but I do remember one thing. They loved each other. And they were excited to be married, and I was excited for them. I remember them leaving the church, and, instead of throwing rice, everyone blew bubbles. I thought it was magical, but it was beautiful and special too.