Yesterday, I had lunch with a dear friend, someone I've known since high school. We were college roommates and both married men named Mike. In our conversations, we often say "your Mike" or "my Mike" to keep our stories straight. Over the years, we've been through a lot together, especially when "my" Mike was sick. My friends showed up in every way possible—organizing help, stocking our freezer, and offering endless support. We've shared both the highs and the lows of life, and our bond has only grown stronger.
Even though we now live on opposite sides of the Valley, with busy lives and families, our friendship remains solid. When we do get together, it’s as if no time has passed. We fall back into our old jokes, catch up on life, and know that one text is all it would take to bring us to each other's door, no matter the distance or busyness of life.
Yesterday’s lunch was filled with laughter and stories about our daughters' high school experiences, reminiscing about our own teenage years nearly 30 years ago. We complained about the hot August weather, joked about needing reading glasses to see the menu, and talked about the rising cost of everything. We even delved into politics, having a respectful conversation about both sides, pondering how the outcome will impact our families.
As our lunch wound down, we talked about her upcoming birthday and fall plans. When it was time to part ways, we hugged with genuine affection, knowing that we’ll catch up "soon enough," whenever that may be.
I walked to my car and my heart was full. I was grateful for a lifelong friend who knows me inside and out, someone who has been there through every season of life. But as I was driving home, something struck me: throughout our entire conversation, she never once asked, "How is Mike?" And in that moment, I felt an even deeper gratitude for her friendship.
It was the first time in over a decade that our time together wasn’t overshadowed by
discussions about Mike's health. There was no need to recount medical updates, no exhausting explanations, no empathetic suggestions. For the first time in a long time, our conversation was purely about everyday life—about being moms, about work, about the normal stuff.
Of course, "my" Mike came up, just as "her" Mike did, but he wasn't the center of our conversation. He was simply a husband and dad, not the medical patient he has been for so many years. And for that, I am deeply grateful.
I am so thankful she didn’t ask, "And how is Mike?"