Foreboding. That’s an emotion my generation hasn’t felt before. We were so blessed. But not anymore.
Being a caretaker to two souls from a different generation is such a privilege. I said to someone the other day, “But they're my best friends. They've been my best friends my whole life!” We compartmentalize our relationships: them/us. But our parents were our first best friends. I wake every morning and they ask how I am and care how I feel. Who asks you and really cares how you respond? Seriously. Who asks you? I have one friend who asks me. Every morning I get his text: “you ok trost?” Nice. Makes my day.
So. Conversations with my parents - my first friends. Rationing. Ration books. Polio scare in their childhoods. Quarantines. Diphtheria. Mass hysteria. Cuban missile crisis. Calling out the national guard. Hurdles the police will face. Words my generation forgot. Words like “common good” and “share” and “us” and “ours” and “sacrifice.” Words our first friends taught us.
We were so blessed. Our first friends know we were. They knew it before we had the thought.