Dear Sandy,

I met my dear friend Sandy not long after I – a victim of trailing spouse syndrome – moved (kicking and screaming) from Chicago to Rochester, New York. An acquaintance told me that Sandy – who was a PR person I had spoken with on the phone in my job as a magazine editor, but never met – lived in the same town as I did. I don’t remember who called whom, but we met for lunch and the deal was sealed. Almost 20 years later, and we are still fast friends – and we are two of the funniest people we know . . .

What in God’s name would I have done had I not met you when I moved to Fairport? Let’s see. I would not have applied to Hooter’s for a waitressing job as a joke. I would not have consulted as many psychics, if any. I would not have gone to an “adult” store to buy party favors for Aphrodite (aka me) to take to a theme party. I would not have had as many impromptu salad bar lunches at Wendy’s – certainly not one in which I (and you) used a bit of inappropriate language and were asked to cool it by a young mother. I would never have known someone who could do a cartwheel on a curb and a perfect dismount ("10" from the Russian judge). I would not have joined Match.com (even though I am married) to help evaluate your dating prospects. I would not have gone on your roots tour in and around Rome New York, nor would you have gone on mine in Lake Forest. I would not have watched Jessie and Alex grow up. I would not have worked for five+ years on the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation project with you. I would not have had anyone to tell my weird family stories to – or anyone’s weird stories to listen to. I would not know how to email or text. I would not believe in myself as much as I do now. I would not have laughed until I couldn’t breathe.

Thank you for being such a loyal and caring friend, even when I fall into my black holes. I never wanted to move to Rochester, but you made it worth every minute -- and when it was time to leave my heart broke a little. Love, Jane