Our first guest blog! By Gayle Kolodny Cole.

I almost did not go to a party. The party in part centered around me, and I almost decided it would be too hard to go, which would have been a real loss for four of my dearest friends. It would have been an even bigger loss for me, and I see a lesson in that reflection.  

I turned 50 this summer, and in the long and isolating pandemic months leading up, I talked to my dear friends whenever I could. Two friends I met as girls in the fifth grade after my parents’ marriage imploded, and even though we live in three different parts of the country now, our trio continues to support one another, celebrate milestones, and share experiences like kin. The three of us exchange shared journals, and during quarantine we sent each other treats like candy and skin masks to open and enjoy over Zoom. Then there is my dear college buddy. We studied and worked together in school before ending up on opposite coasts. In between occasional adventures, we call to talk through the big things. She and her husband own a lakehouse, and during the pandemic winter, as we dreamt our dreams for America’s post-vaccination reopening, we hatched a plan to meet up for a five-day women’s weekend this summer. In July, a few days after my fiftieth, we’d all gather: my college friend, my two high school pals, and also the woman I have thought of as my work wife for nearly a decade. Together we’d celebrate all the things -- birthdays, vaccinations, reunions, the resumption of travel, hope for better days!

In May I developed kidney stones. The largest one obstructed my kidney, causing swelling and pain. I felt terrible, but I figured I would find a quick resolution. As weeks of medical delays and frustration mounted, I told my friends maybe I should cancel. I worried I wouldn’t be as much fun. I would have a bunch of medicine to take. I might need help. 

But the dear friends in my life are like a hive. Each of us is a worker bee. Each of us is the queen. Collectively, the amount of individual achievements, and the amount of personal losses and challenges we have overcome, is another long story. Most importantly, we all know how to work together. So these four women told me to show up. Whatever happened when we got there, they’d be there for me. 

Now I have been back from the trip for a week. I still wake up each day so glad that I went. My surgery was supposed to have been three days ago. But when I returned from the lake, my pre-op exam confirmed what I had already diagnosed: halfway into my girlfriends’ getaway, my obstructing stone gave up and ran away. One of the ladies of the lake thinks she vanquished the miserable thing by terrifying me on the back of her jet ski. Another credits the bottle of whiskey she made me taste. The others think floating in blissful peace did the trick. I am certain they all are right. 

As far as I am concerned, I have re-learned an important lesson. No matter how much I could, or could not, participate fully in the events at the lake, I felt part of something joyful, something I should not have considered missing. As an educator and a mom to an austic child, I strive to be inclusive; this time, I needed to accept that inclusion for myself. We all need a hive, where we can be ourselves, and be loved, no matter what challenges we face. 

Gayle Kolodny Cole is an educator, writer, and mom to two beautiful teenagers, including one who is autistic.