Kathy: A Timeless Friend
I miss you so much
Sometimes, life brings us unexpected friendships—the kind that gently nudge your heart and remind you that age is never a barrier to deep connection. That’s exactly what happened when I met Kathy.
Kathy is a beautiful woman in her 80s. I was in my 20s when we first met, and despite the six-decade age gap, we instantly clicked. We ended up talking for three and a half hours straight that first day. She had this gentle, introverted warmth that mirrored my own, and somehow, both of us were wearing the exact same watch. It was a small but magical detail—one that made me feel like the universe was smiling.
Since then, Kathy has become a wellspring of wisdom in my life. She often reaches out with thoughtful life advice—unasked for, but always welcome. Recently, I couldn’t help but call her, just to hear her voice. She reminded me once again:
“Listen to your heart. Don’t let free advice from others pull you away from your center. Defend your inner voice.”
Then she added, “I will be your friend. A friend in your old city. My door is open if you ever want to come stay.”
She told me a story that struck me deeply. Once, she had planned a trip costing several thousand dollars. But as she was about to leave, she felt something wasn’t right. So she canceled the trip—no guilt, no hesitation. “It was just money,” she said calmly. “Your intuition matters more than anything material.” That stayed with me.
Her words have helped me trust my instincts more, to tune in rather than give in, and to remember that peace of mind is always worth protecting.
I didn't know until recently that Kathy had spent over two decades building and running a nonprofit. Her heart has been quietly giving for so many years. And somehow, the same fate that led her through decades of meaningful service brought her to me—another wandering soul just trying to figure life out. She promised to send me birthday and Christmas cards once I’m settled, and she left me with the kind of practical, peculiar, yet brilliant advice that only she could give.
As I sit with these thoughts, I feel a deep sense of gratitude—tinged with a little regret. I regret the times I could have visited her but chose to hide in my own world. I regret the moments I could’ve done something small for her in return, but stayed withdrawn instead.
Kathy, thank you for entering my life. You are not just a passerby. You are a witness to a rare and precious kind of friendship—one that makes no demands, crosses all boundaries, and stays quietly present like the ticking of a matching watch.
You told me to call you in a month, to tell you how I’m doing. I will.
Because I now know I’ve met not only a good friend, but also a wise mentor.
Your insight is rare, your generosity boundless.
Dear Kathy—what can I do for you in return?