When I was a kid trying to fit in, and make friends, my grandmother told me, that I’d be lucky if I could fill one hand with the names of real friends on my dying day.

I’ve shared that slice of wisdom many times. Interestingly enough, that story helps people establish some boundaries or take them down.

When cancer entered my husband’s liver, it moved like wildfire. The doctors said, 6, maybe 8 months, and he’d be gone - and listened as the doctor told us the foreseeable realities ahead of us. As the end drew near, days were all we had. One morning my husband said, he’d counted his friends. Huh, my husband was a very sociable fellow and loved by many. He reminded me what my grandmother had told me. Oh.

He named three friends, his mother, Gary and Jeff (one of his sons) and stopped. There’s two more he said, “one is my first love and one is my last love and you were both”. Seeing him hold his five friends wrapped up in a fist, remains the most tender of my memories.

I’ve heard it said that expectation is the mother of disappointment. Perhaps my grandmother was right. Maybe one handful of friends is all we could ever really need or want.