It was my mother who first told me of it. I’m sure Grandma Elsie told her — how we once were physically connected. It was an umbilical cord. I could barely say the word, and hardly could believe it was true, but neither had ever lied to me, so I agreed to it. Right here? I asked, pointing to my own innie that looked just like hers. “Yes,” she said. “That’s how all the love got through.” That made sense, I thought. Because surely we had a connection. “And it never closes?” “Nope,” she exclaimed.” All the joy, the laughter, will forever find its way in.” I have protected my belly button ever since.

The last few days have been filled with laughter. They call it a belly laugh. But it’s more than that really. The kind of laugh that starts from the heart. A shared story that gets more funny over time. And this joy that bends you at the waist, and defies all gravity, rendering your neck useless, and your mouth unable to close — this belly laugh takes your belly button, and and heaves it in so deeply that it rubs the back of your spine, again and again. And she was right. They were right. This is where all the joy gets in. And the glorious thing is, it’s not just from mother to daughter, but from friend to friend. And when they leave, these friends, these little women girls that have filled the house with laughter, and strengthened my spine, my upright being, it will stay with me, walk with me, all this inner (innie) joy. 

Friendship never closes.