FamilyFriendship

Sunday Mornings And What They Mean To Me

We meet every Sunday for coffee.

There’s a sidewalk cafe around the block from Anna’s apartment, and so the three of us meet there every week so she can still smoke while we brunch.

We’ve been doing it for the past ten years – outside table, yellow ashtray, three cups of black coffee, and a pastry to share.

Ten years of tradition.

Sometimes we finish the coffee, sometimes we don’t.

Sometimes we indulge in the pastry, sometimes we don’t.

Anna always smokes, and we always tell her to quit.

That’s the rhythm of our friendship. That’s the beat of the song that is our sisterhood – sidewalk tables, black coffee, a pastry to share, and a stream of advice.

To someone walking down the street, it looks like a couple of pals hanging out for Sunday brunch. But if you look closer, if you pull up a chair at our table, you’ll see that it’s never been about brunch.

It’s about showing up at that table, every Sunday.

It’s about showing up for one another, every moment that we get.

It’s about showing up.

It was at that table where we learned of soulmates and great loves. It was at that table where we learned of great heartbreak, too. It was at that table where we helped one another pick up the pieces of our broken hearts. It was at that table where we learned that we could heal ourselves, too.

That table was the first place we spoke of engagements and marriages. It’s where we learned of new apartments and new homes. That table was the first place we learned of motherhood, of pregnancy, and of infertility. That table was where we told one another of parent’s illnesses, and job losses, and feeling like failures.

When we sat at that table, we spoke our truth, our fears, our hopes, and our dreams. That table and the faces that surrounded it gave us the strength to say what we would otherwise keep quiet. That table and the faces that surrounded it celebrated our joys, too. Because of that table and the tradition that it holds, we learned that we don’t have to go through this life alone. We learned that it’s ok to lean, to sit still, and to feel.

Sunday mornings at our table have never been about breakfast or brunch or coffee or cigarettes.

Sunday mornings at our table have always been about friendship, and love, and lessons on how to navigate this life. TC mark

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