Thursday, May 11, 2023
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January 9, 1967, Vassar Hospital, Poughkeepsie New York. Pat's back is hurting, and she is not being quiet about it. She is my roommate in the obstetrics wing. I've got my own issues - my labor started, stalled, and now they plan to induce me in the morning. Except I can't sleep because this woman is moaning about her back. She was admitted after me, and sure enough, she delivered before I did. By the end of January 10th we both had new babies - Kathie and Peter - both wrapped up like burritos. We couldn't really tell them apart for a bit. (Soon enough we discovered Kathie had those eyes.)
That was the beginning of what became an important friendship. Over the next few years, home with two toddlers each, we spent hours at a time on the phone, talking about everything, playing word games, many word games, discussing and refining our opinions on politics. Our husbands worked long hours, so weeks went by when nearly the only adult conversation we had was each other.
Lives moved on. Pat and the girls moved back to Long Island; we eventually moved to Irvington, New York, then Pennsylvania, then Florida. But we kept in touch. We visited. We caught up on the adventures of the children. And even when we didn't see each other for long periods, when we talked, there were no gaps. We talked two weeks ago. Like everyone who knew her, I loved that huge smile and that laugh. We had plenty to laugh about because what else can you do some days? There's a hole in the universe that's just about Pat-sized, and it will not soon be filled.
The photos: 1970 at home, 1978 kids clowning, 1983 July 4th on a visit in Poughkeepsie, 2017 at Siesta Key Beach
