The older I get, the more I realize that every moment is a memory in the making. And since I arrived in Jacksonville Wednesday morning, we've made so many.
Watching my dearest friends as they blossom in parenthood. Sitting and doing a little bit of nothing, and having not much matter as long as we're all together. Meals shared around the table. Nights that stretch into the wee hours of morning because we're just not finished talking. Meeting JJ, the Carlson I had not yet met, and feeling the tug of friendship from the word "go." Spending a day in Springfield with The Women, having lunch, shopping for yarn, trying to shop at several stores that were closed and enjoying time to bond with each other.
The thing that just gets me is, I know in my brain that these people aren't "mine." But it doesn't matter, really; they don't treat me any differently than they treat each other. It's a little disconcerting sometimes, in a good way. I love these people; they hold my heart in their hands, and they treat it with dignity. They love me unconditionally, and I cannot describe how grateful I am.