A long time ago on some birthday card, I think it was, one of the aunts signed her name with a quick sketch of a 6-legged ant, and the term became one of endearment. Sometimes I still address cards and messages to them with “Ant.”
My three ants understand me better than I do. They’re always interested in my life and eager to hear from me. They know what I’ll need before I do. Whenever we’re together, which isn’t often, they treat me like royalty. They tell me they believe in me, and cheer for my dreams and goals. One makes dresses for me with her whizzy hands. Another emails succinct messages that feed me. I called the other one yesterday because I needed her.
It can be hard to make a 6 hr. time difference work for two busy people, but we both had slots in the day that jibed. It was wonderful. She heard what I didn’t say, and understood what I didn’t have time to explain. She gave me the perspective I was needing, and made me laugh and told me hard words. Had it been anyone else, I’d have been angry and defensive, but I could take it off her because I trust her. We laughed alot, and it was delicious.
I didn’t have time to ask her about her hectic, interesting life. She let me dominate the conversation, and before we hung up, she prayed for me, and of course I cried, and afterward everything was all better.
So this post is mawkish and all about me, but I’m awfully glad for my ants. They make my life exponentially better.