How many miles do we travel for friendship? I had to ask myself that when the happy invitation arrived in the mail.

For dear old friends, my thought is that no amount of miles is too far. In my heart, I certainly would take three flights to Patagonia, a 9-stop train ride, and walk the last five rocky miles. Uphill.

Then, as I dream about a steadfast friendship, reality sets in. My pocketbook and my lower back hear that any invitation involves taking a trip, and they’re hoping the distance isn’t much beyond Jamestown. On a quiet, sunny day.

This particular invite was for dear old friends of 50 years who live in Maine – about an hour north of Portland. Tilly and Toby’s wonderful adult children were throwing them a mutual 80th birthday party. I couldn’t miss this bash. I adore them.

Our friendship dates back to my living in Wellsville, New York, before we moved to Warren. My late husband and I had lived there for a year and had welcomed a new baby, but I was still trying to find my way among my neighbors. Then one fine day, the house a mile down the road sported a “sold” sign on the front lawn.

A few days later, the moving truck was disgorging antique furniture and the movers were setting up a large wooden swing set. The station wagon in the driveway sported a university parking lot sticker. I thought, “Hmmm. This is worth a pan of welcoming brownies.” That brown batch began a friendship that has lasted through the birth of two more children all the way through to today’s advanced seniorhood. And although we see each other infrequently, we have picked up every conversation where we left off – for the 50 years in between.

Nine years ago, we received an invitation for Tilly and Toby’s golden wedding anniversary. My mother was terminally ill, and my leaving for a fun-filled occasion was out of the question. Because I missed that shindig, I particularly wanted to attend this celebration. And it involved a new realization. That happens a lot these days.

I’m older than my friends Tilly and Toby. Right now I’m able to drive to Buffalo, fly to Boston, and drive my daughter’s car three hours north to their party in Maine. Will I be able to in a few years from now? Next spring? Next week? I dunno. I sincerely hope so, but do any of us know what tomorrow may bring?

As I headed north in my daughter’s minivan, I passed Peabody, Portsmouth, and the Piscataqua River. I could hardly wait for the miles to slip past on my way. I’d like to think that there would be more get-togethers with these good buddies, but none of us know that. I suppose we could have approached things that way in our 30s, 40s, or 50s, but the odds were in our favor then. Father Time is now calling the shots, and he is not reliable. He’s an old man, too.

So since this realistic thought process has taken hold, I’ve spent a weekend with an old airline friend that I didn’t want to miss seeing again. Now, as I write this, I’m having an extra day here in Massachusetts with Julie, my high school BFF … there’s never enough of that time. And I’m planning to attend a family memorial service in New York City at the beginning of October. While I’m in the Big Apple, I MUST find a way to visit my lifelong best buddy, Ginger. She’s not up to snuff these days and I need to carry some love and Oreos her way.

That upcoming memorial service is for my oldest nephew who just died. This sad occasion is the only time I’m sure of being with all my O’Brien clan for the near future. Everyone is now so spread out that we are at the birth/wedding/death stages of gathering together. No football games or weekend barbecues for us. Just long drives, airplanes, and hotels.

I am the last one standing among my generation of the O’Briens, and I am hoping that the next time the gang gathers is not for my funeral. I won’t enjoy seeing everybody half as much.

For my long-in-the-tooth pals, please take this to heart: Our dear friends and family are the only real allies in our life – the ones we can count on. The ones we can call at 3 a.m. who will say, “Yes, I can help.” The ones who will go the distance with you. Love and friendship are the glue that holds that together.

We need to go as many miles as we have to, as often as we can, with as much gusto as we are able. Tomorrow’s birthday parties are not promised.

Marcy O’Brien can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com.