High School Reunion

High School Reunion

My 60th high school reunion was celebrated last week and it was a complete pleasure! Except, perhaps, for reading through the names of more than a hundred who have died. It was sobering to read, most of the names so familiar to me, reminding me of my good fortune to be among us, still walking around, still making choices on this earth. Almost a hundred were at the celebration, few that I could recognize without a name tag.

One of the guys I talked with at the beginning was someone I didn’t recognize. We hadn’t put on our name tags yet, so I asked him his name. When he told me, the memories came flooding back so clearly. He was still handsome, though different than my memory. We chatted for a while, each establishing that our spouses were not present, as they were not from Beverly and wouldn’t know the others there or particularly enjoy this occasion. We also expressed our happiness with our lives and our relationships.

After several moments’ consideration, I told him that, in high school, I’d had a crush on him. This, of course, clearly pleased him. We chatted another few minutes, then separated to join others for dinner and conversation over a couple of hours.

I loved the reconnection that happened with so many! Part of the reconnection was remembering others who had planned to be there, but, because of unplanned illness or recent surgery, were not presence. Among these were two special friends of mine, Karen, who has chronic illnesses, and Patty, who has been my reunion date every time, except this one. She’d had surgery recently and was, sadly, unable to attend. There were many inquiries about these women, who had each given me orders to report back to them with all the news.

Each reunion is different, but this one felt extra special, in part, because it was to be our last. Although there is an annual brunch for all classes of more than fifty years, this would be our last reunion for the Class of BHS 1964. It seemed to me that there was a strong mutual feeling of appreciation for our lives, more than simply because we were still alive. We didn’t talk politics or jobs or work history or vacations. Maybe we were simply just glad to be alive.

When people were beginning to leave the event, that guy I’d talked with at the beginning came over to me and gave me a hug. “I want you to promise me something,” he said.

“What?” I asked.

“In our next life, don’t wait sixty years to tell me.”

I think I said OK, shortly before returning home to my dear husband.

My friend, Maryellen, and me