We were not at Lake Blackshear near Cordele, Georgia to fish, or boat, jump in the lake, or swim. Our group of siblings, three of us and four chosen ones, all in our seventies and eighties, rented a cottage for the weekend. Our plans were to eat, tell old and new stories, sing, pray, and laugh a lot. From the very beginning yarns were spinning like a banana spider’s web–colorful, intimate, and incredible. There was a shadow, however, over our usual gaiety. My husband, though he had insisted on going ahead with our reunion plans, was feeling quite rugged.

At one point, following a dinner of barbecue pork and roasted potatoes, three of us girls (yes, we’re still girls) walked down to the dock. I felt sad that Charles didn’t even feel like going that short distance on a paved walkway but I shed my wistfulness when I saw the sign. Elaine spied it first. The sign read quite plainly JUMP AND SWIM. We burst into laughter.

We could tell someone had painted over some words so the sign no longer read DO NOT JUMP AND SWIM but was changed to a positive command. We looked over the railing at the waves washing in from a passing boat. Somebody said, “Well, I’m not tempted.”

We watched boats churn by beginning a trip around the lake; others cut their motors as they slid into the boat landing next door. We watched birds diving for supper morsels. The lights on the boats reflected in the rippled water were so pretty. But the stunning sunset was far more beautiful. It looked like fingers of fire rising into the sky. Some cloud formations reminded us of the mountains where our little group normally meets every year.

During the weekend we shared pictures, songs, and poems, and we reminisced. One of the times we remembered was the year our group boarded a train at Veterans’ Park and rode to Plains. We visited downtown Plains, having lunch together in a deli near the railroad tracks. We went to Jimmy Carter’s boyhood home and marveled at its simplicity and charm. Though I’ve lost the picture of the ten or twelve of us on that train, I remember what a fun day it was.

This time was different. We didn’t ride the train. We didn’t take long walks around Veterans’ Park. Certainly none of us took the sign seriously and decided to jump in the lake for a swim. In fact, that shadow hampering our usual hilarity became more and more apparent as the weekend passed. Charles was weak and pale facing what we would soon learn is an ugly type of cancer, Acute Myeloid Leukemia. Our weekend at the lake was far more sedate and solemn than in years past. But still it was a good time. Spending time with kindred spirits is, to me, like a hint of heaven. Sharing hard times makes the burdens immeasurably lighter.