Someone mistook G and me for sisters again the other day.  It set the two of us off into the giggles.  Actually, I’ve been around her more years than I was my sisters.  We’ve been neighbors and friends for thirty-seven years.  Therefore, when you figure I only lived with my sisters for about nineteen years, then yeah we’re closer than most sisters are by far.

     She never met my father but when my father died, she sympathized.  When my sister died, she grieved with me, she knew my sister well.  When my Mother died, G and I shed tears together because my mother treated her like a daughter when she visited us in the summers past. 

     We’ve borrowed sugar and stuff from each other forever.  We’ve shared many hobbies over the years.  We trade plants and garden harvests.  We’ve laughed over many a cup of coffee. 

     I watched her sons grow from toddlers to men.  I sat with her in the hospital when she had surgeries.  I stayed with her, worried, and held her hand when her husband had a heart attack a few years ago.  DH and I celebrated her hubby’s recovery with her. 

     Not a week goes by without us checking in on each other at least twice during the week.  If I haven’t seen her all weekend, I know she’ll pop by on Monday.