These Things Happen

I wimped.
We gathered and had a cup of tea, some cheese and apples. It was time to go see Lynn. I suddenly saw her at the nursing home, either medicated for bed or awake and aware. And it suddenly was quite clear to me that if we three women showed up she would either not know who we were or she'd know all too well and I couldn't see it bringing her one ounce of joy to know that we were going out without her.
I told my friends what I was thinking. I began to cry a little.
"It's okay," they said. "You're right."
And so we went on and had our little ritual and then we went to supper and it was all fine, but I couldn't quit thinking about Lynn, lying in a bed in a nursing home and I couldn't quit wondering where her mind was and what she was seeing and hearing and whether or not she somehow knew we were out without her.
I knew and it was hard for me to keep my mind where it should have been- concentrating on what was going on right then, right there, which was where I wanted to be because I love these women, too.
We ended up the night, toasting to "next year" with a shared last bite of pumpkin cheesecake.
Next year.
Where will we all be?
I pray that by next year, Lynn is somewhere where she truly knows what light is.