I went out for drinks and apps with a good friend tonight to celebrate my birthday. After what feels like weeks of rain bracketing a mini heat wave, it was absolutely perfect weather-wise to sit on the deck, sipping beer and eating nachos and fried catfish and mussels. It was the kind of night that makes me wonder why I don't go out more often.
We were there for a little over three hours, and for probably half of that time we talked about Henry, about what happened when he died, what she remembered, what stood out to her, what I remembered, what I couldn't remember or what was fuzzy.
And here's the thing: it wasn't depressing at all. I love having conversations like these. (Not the experience that led to this conversation, but that, given that experience, the conversation happened.) It was not what I expected of my birthday outing, and yet it was what I needed right now.