You know those weeks, don’t you? I suppose those weeks are best described as a time when one loses a limb. Not a tree limb, mind you, but an extension of one’s self.

I first met her when I was a teen, and she was a very few years older. It was one of those friendships that clicked. What fun we had.

I remember “floating” at Dalewood Lake on Sunday afternoons. Ahh, we were just lolling the time away. Those were the days.

We were working girls with young husbands. Heck, we were all young.

It was a time in downtown Meridian when at lunchtime, we girls left the office in a dead-run, grabbed a sandwich at Post Office Drug and headed to Fifth Street to shop for clothes, oh, and shoes, too.

My friend and I didn’t work in the same office, but we did the same routine. It was a fun time to work in downtown Meridian. No worries, safety was expected, and we working girls were sort of a sorority.

And, by George, we always returned to work without being late.

Man, could I move then.

She and James Elmer had the most wonderful dog in the world. It was a little female Fiske named Skeeter.

When I visited, I admired that when returning to the house after a potty-break, Skeeter whipped her feet on the door mat.

Oh, and how Skeeter loved candy. You see there was a candy dish which sat prettily in the center of a highly polished coffee table. The candy dish was without a lid. Skeeter so, so wanted a piece but she was only given one piece per day. It must have been hard to wait all day for just one piece of candy because she could have gotten it without waiting. But she waited.

Sweet Skeeter left us many years ago but still, memories of a little black and white dog linger.

I remember the year Hubs bought a very special Christmas present for me, and I did the same for him. My friend hid both of the gifts for us without giving anything away.

And then our children arrived, and we were stay-at-home moms, but not for long. Within two or three years we returned to our work lives, but our time off now circled around the needs of our children. We were not in shoe shops too often, except when the kids needed new soccer shoes.

I have always missed our early days, when life was carefree. I miss trying out new recipes on our young husbands or beating them in a game of Rook. I miss life in the 60s and 70s, a time without passwords and scams. It was a time when grandma called to give a family update. “Aunt Lona Bell has a cold and I (grandma) cooked a big pot of collards for she and Uncle Audrey to make them feel better.”

And I admired my grandmother for taking on that task. I mean I didn’t really know but cooking collards seemed awfully complicated.

But my clearest memory of a “Grandma saying” was when she said, “Everyone I know is dead.”

Grandma lived to the age of 89. I can imagine she was aching to once again see her brothers, sisters and cousins.

Mostly, times were sweet for me.

But this week I lost a friend, an irreplaceable friend.

Glenda Shepherd Smith, please know that you are missed.

Anne McKee is a Mississippi-inspired writer and storyteller.