Last week was dark and unreal, and I found myself in a state of shock. It started out like any other week, however, by the week’s end I was mournful and grieving. In just one week, five of my friends and acquaintances passed away. Five too many.

For each and every person, my mind traveled back to the time we met and what we had done together. A couple of the people I had known only a short time, but long enough that I could recall their face, their voice, and being with them on occasion.

The one person who I am most emotional about was a kind yet jovial man I met at our local farmer’s market. There is a section of the market which is a brick enclosed building where the Amish sell meals, food to go, and baked goods. There is a relatively small eating area where people gather, eat, and often linger to chat with one another. They often don’t know each other, but there is a group of them that have been there so many times for so many years that they are friends now.

I retired early from teaching (28 years) to take care of my mom. On Tuesdays and Fridays we would head to the farmer’s market to get coffee and a bacon and egg sandwich. At first, we just sat together eating and quietly chatting to each other. However, when folks started seeing us every Tuesday and Friday morning, they thought they would include us in their morning chat group, and hence, we became “two of the regulars”.

Mom and I were invited to sit with these lovely people, engage in conversation, and spend as much as two hours just gabbing and chatting along with the group. One man stood out in particular. He became our closest friend. He would always save us two seats when the eating area started to get crowded, he introduced us to other early birds (we were there before 8:00 a.m.), and he always always brought us summer vegetables.

Over the course of almost twenty years, we stayed close friends. It got to the point where I invited a friend of mine to the market. Then, the next thing you know, several of us formed a group and picked a restaurant to eat a Sunday breakfast at different locations around town once a month. The spouses came along and our group grew. What also grew was our fondness and love for one another.

Oh, our relationships didn’t stop there. I would have luncheons and have them all at our house. I would make stews or pot pies with some kind of dessert, and we would squeeze into our dining room because by this time there were eight or nine of us. My farmer’s market buddy and his lovely wife would always be the last to leave. He had so much life in him and so much to share. My husband and I enjoyed listening his tales of farm life with multiple siblings or being a Seabee in the Navy to eventually retiring and working in his beautiful vegetable gardens. Many times I would find bags of vegetables on my front porch. I knew the culprit.

My friend was of Irish descent. Even his last name spoke loud and true of those Celtic roots. Since my daughter and I had been to Ireland, he was always asking me questions about what I had seen, or he would ask if I saw this or that. He would listen intently as I told my own stories of my Ireland adventure. He was so into the Irish culture that he dressed as the best leprechaun every St.Patrick’s Day. He would ride in the parades all around the towns of this area, was head marshall for the city parade, and wore his suit for at least the whole week of St. Patrick’s Day. What a character he was!

I have much to remember my dear friend, and I will miss him immensely. And with this poem I bid him farewell,

“Until We Meet Again”…….

Those special memories of you will always bring a smile, If only I could have you back for just a little while. Then we could sit and talk again just like we used to do. You always meant so very much and always will do, too. The fact that you’re no longer here will always cause me pain, but you’re forever in my heart until we meet again.

Cherish those around you. Life is too short. Have a fun-filled Friday, be safe, and I love you.