Life came back slowly, Kate realized. It didn't come flooding in with the reassurance that all was well. The light outside was no different; her daughter's body, the strength of her hug, was not necessarily more substantial. The delicate veil Kate placed between herself and the world was not flung away. It clung.
But life is persistent, slipping into your consciousness sideways, catching you with a fleeting moment of color, the unexpected and comforting smell of a neighbor's dinner cooking as you walk on a winter evening, the feeling of warm water running between your fingers as you wash the dishes at night. There is nothing so seductive as reality.
This is the story of Kate, but really of seven women, gathered together first to support a young mother with newborn twins. Then, life and time draws them closer while unravelling their separate stories and experiences.
I am one of five sisters and because of, or in spite of, that I have always been intriqued by how diverse women connect and are drawn into community. That imperfection labeled friendship. Sometimes unequal, frustrating, inconsistent. Often fleeting and temporal. At best enduring, forgiving, understanding, tolerant, unconditional.
Recently I've been considering how one initiates and builds new and true friendships later in life when we are all less trusting, patient, open.