G is for glue, not the kind shown in the picture on the right, but the kind that holds your life together.
The glue of family. How fortunate I am to have my children and granddaughter here only a few minutes drive away. They supported us both through Ralph's illness and me through my widowhood. They're available when I need them and even put up with what I'm sure are annoying questions for my son about the computer and my daughter about the garden. And there's my sister, not nearby, but a telephone call away. We travel together and on our last trip set a record by not getting lost once. We share childhood memories. My father used to tell us, "When your mother and I are gone, you'll have each other." And we do.
The glue of friendship. I still keep up with friends from elementary school, junior high and high school, with college roomates, sorority sisters, writer friends, organization friends I've made through the years. Even if it's a once yearly lunch, I still appreciate them.
The glue of work. I love being a speech pathologist. Many of my friends are colleagues I've worked with through the years--other speech paths, teachers, psychologists, social workers. And the families who have given me the privilege of sharing in their children's lives and language. I love hearing from people whose kids I worked with years ago and knowing I've contributed to their lives.
The glue of place. Recently I wrote about being happy in my space. Sometimes, when there's a leaky roof or an A/C that suddenly goes off in mid-July, I think of selling my house, but I won't. Here's where my memories live; here's where my children grew up.
The glue of memory. Arguments (yes, I once socked Ralph in front of his mother), jokes (the pink plastic flamingos that appeared in our yard after, with my glasses off, I mistook some girls in pink dance costumes on TV for flamingos), cuddles, warmth and joy. I wouldn't trade them for anything.
What holds you together?
