I am out to lunch with my friends Anne and Jan. Jan has recently lost two people in her life.

“I’ve lost my anchors,” she says.

I feel her words deeply. There have been so many times these past several years that I have wished for my mom or my uncle who was like my dad. And my aunt that since my mom died always made me feel like I was one of her own. The anchors in my life that made the world seem safe when it got scary.

Some time after our lunch, I am chatting with my friend Crystal who has also just lost one of her anchors.

“Colleen, the time is coming that it’s now our turn to be the anchors,” she says.

I am not ready to be an anchor. This awful divorce makes me especially not ready. It makes me needy and certainly not capable of the type of strength an anchor must possess. It makes me wish my mom was still here so that I could escape to her house. I would walk through that front door, snuggle on the couch with a cup of tea and know that everything would be okay.

I know that Crystal is right.

I am just so lonely for my anchors.

The people who made me believe no matter what that I was special, that I was up for any challenge, that I would find my way and be a better person for it. The people that chased away my fears, my self-doubt and who in their presence made me know that I was safe.

My friend Anne e-mails me for lunch. Her e-mails are always filled with the kind of things my mom would tell me right now. It makes me fight back the tears to feel this familiarity. It is such a comfort. We agree on a date to meet.

I slide into the booth for lunch. We sit and chat and she imparts her wisdom, her love and assures me.

For the next two hours, I feel safe. I don’t have to be an anchor. She is one for me and I have the luxury of believing that everything really will be okay.

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