The other night, one of my favorite young men drove two hours just to help me move some heavy furniture. He and my youngest were in diapers together and I always prayed that someday they would get married and he would be my other son-in-law. Alas, they did become infatuated in their mid-teens and they kissed once. They both laughed so hard at the absurdity of dating someone who was, in nearly every sense of the word, a sibling. I am still thrilled he will be in my life forever.

His mom is one of my best friends. When she told me what they were going to name their firstborn if he was a boy, I told her under no uncertain terms that she could NOT name him that. It was an old family name, true. But the kids would have teased him unmercifully. I told her I would let her know soon what his name was. A few days later, I was in the grocery store and heard a woman calling to her son. Hunter. Perfect! I told my friend I had the perfect name and that is who he is. A good name. Solid. Sophisticated. Masculine. We were laughing about it on the porch last night. He thanked me immensely that he isn’t named Theodore!

We had a long talk. We shared our thoughts and fears from the bookends of life. He asked for advice on some things. We covered a lot of ground in a couple of hours and I cherished those moments I got to have with him because they are few and far between. He left this morning by 5 o’clock in order to be back at work at 7. He gave me big hugs and told me how special I have been in his life, that he’s sorry I have to go through this alone, and that all I ever need to do is call and he’ll do what he can for me. What a great kid. What a great evening!

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