I've been thinking about you a lot since your surgery, and I wanted to put it down on paper so you can hold onto it on the slow days. Recovering from knee surgery is real work, and I'm not going to pretend it's anything less. I just want you to know you don't have to do it alone in your head. I'm right here, close by, even when I'm not in the room.
Here is what I know about you. You are stubborn in the best way. It's the kind of stubborn that doesn't give up on things that matter, and I think that's a good quality to have on your side right now. You are also one of the most generous people I know. You give your time, your attention and your laughter without keeping score. Now it's your turn to be looked after, and I hope you let people do it. Let the pillows pile up and the blanket stay tucked around you. Let this be a soft place to rest.
I keep picturing you in your garden, and I can almost hear you laughing at one of your terrible puns. You always deliver them with such pride, and I always groan, and we both know I secretly love every one. Save a few up for me. I promise to groan on cue.
And I'm already looking forward to our Saturday walk around the farmers market. There's no rush and no schedule. When you're ready, we'll go slowly, at whatever pace suits you, and stop at every stall you like. I'll carry the bags. We'll smell the flowers and the fresh bread, and you can tell me what you'd plant next. Until then, that walk is waiting for us, patient and happy.
Thank you for being exactly who you are, Rita. You make my life warmer and funnier just by being in it. However these days go, I'm so glad you're my friend, and I appreciate you more than I can say.