Today is Florence's birthday. She would have been 85 years old.
Tonight, spoke to that rare friend, the one who knew her when they were both so young they still had hope, but both so old they recognized passion and desire.
"This is the first year your mom, my "Deutschy" is not having a birthday on this earth."
Almost 70 years worth of speaking or not speaking, they both always knew when the other's day was there. Cards sent but returned. Silent missing, but refusing to admit. Attempts, deep embraces, secrets, the meaning of home, irreconcilable differences, marriages...
But at the end the small little guitar key chain this friend sent to Florence was grabbed and clutched, a talisman against the encroaching darkness she would need to travel alone.
