Some friendships don’t just last — they define you. I’m forever grateful for the group of women who have shared my life’s journey from the beginning, weaving memories, love, and laughter through every season of life.
There’s something almost magical about finding people who know you at every stage of life — and love you through all of them.
I am blessed beyond words to have such a group of women — friends who have been a part of my story for as long as I can remember.
We grew up together in a small town, walking the halls of the same high school, sharing dreams, secrets, and more than a few reckless adventures. We spent weekends cruising the backroads, singing along to the radio with the windows down, feeling like the whole world was stretched out before us.
We transformed our high school gym into a crêpe paper dream for our junior prom, chain-danced around our senior homecoming bonfire, and painted countless supporter banners to cheer on our teams. We rode spectator buses to games, shouting ourselves hoarse, and we cruised the circuit in nearby Janesville, feeling wild and free. We passed notes in class, whispered secrets during sleepovers, and plotted our futures as if nothing could ever get in the way.
We knew each other before life got complicated — before marriages and children, careers and heartbreaks, illnesses and losses. And somehow, through all the changes and all the distance, we held onto each other.
Even now, as the years stretch behind us, we gather together with the same laughter, the same inside jokes, and the same ease that only comes from decades of shared history. When we’re together, it’s as if time folds in on itself. The years melt away, and we’re simply us again — the girls who once believed anything was possible, and somehow, still do when we’re side by side.
What we have is rare. It’s not just the longevity of our friendship — though staying this close for a lifetime is no small miracle. It’s that we still truly like each other. We still look forward to our time together. We still laugh until our faces hurt. We still share our lives with the same openness and trust we had as teenagers, only now with the wisdom and grace that life has etched into each of us.
Once a month, we meet for lunch and little adventures — exploring small towns, trying new places, creating new memories to tuck alongside the old ones. Not all of us can make it to every gathering — life still throws its curveballs, after all — but we all try to come when we can. And whether there are ten of us or just a handful, every meeting feels like a little piece of home. These days are more than just social outings. They are a reminder of how deeply lucky I am to have a place where I belong, with people who have seen every version of me — and loved me through them all.
Of course, not all the memories are easy ones. Over the years, we’ve faced heartaches too. We’ve mourned together, cried together. We still carry Mary and Pam in our hearts — two beautiful souls we lost far too soon, whose laughter and friendship are woven into all our memories. We remember them with love, and they are always part of us when we gather.
I know how unusual this is. Most people are lucky to keep even one or two childhood friendships into their later years. To have an entire circle of women who have journeyed through life with me — who still choose to show up, still laugh, still love — is a gift I never take for granted.
These friendships are more than comfort. They are a lifeline to the truest parts of myself. They remind me where I came from, who I have been, and who I still am underneath everything life has layered on top.
In a world that is often too fast, too uncertain, and too fractured, our bond is a rare kind of miracle — proof that some connections really can stand the test of time, growing stronger, sweeter, and more meaningful with every passing year.
I am so deeply, endlessly grateful for these women — for their laughter, their strength, their understanding, and their love.
They are more than friends. They are a part of my soul
