I'm a great one for the chat. I love conversation. Always have. Got hooked at a young age hiding somewhere inconspicuously: behind a chair, in a corner, on the stairs, listening to my mother and her friends unthread lives and stitch them back up again.
We learn so much from the talk of others. "An caint" as we have it in Ireland. And what was that again about Irish conversation? A series of monologues?
Conversations with women are different than with men, I believe. Women like to thrash things out, go around a topic, land for a while, veer off again. Men tend to treat dilemmas as problems to be solved. Women are not looking for solutions when they talk. They are looking for the shared stories, the sympatico, the empathy.
"Take this," she said last evening, as she handed me the framed picture she had made, "The star lights up at night."
Yes, on those dark nights it will glow quietly on my bedside table and remind me of her. My dear friend who has suffered and triumphed and who will dance again.
