Today is my friend F’s 50th birthday, or as she has decided to name it her ‘Second 40th’. Whichever one it is, I’m happy that I’ve known her for many of those years. The testament to our friendship is that even when we haven’t been in touch for ages as soon as we make contact we still feel connected and are able to pick up where we left off as if we’d only seen each other days before. We have a comfort with each other that we know isn’t easy to find, but we also understand exists because we value each other and know that maintaining good friendships takes work.
When F learned about my illness, she was devastated. She immediately wanted to know what she could do to help me. Then she rethought her question and said she shouldn’t be asking she should just be showing up at my home to do what I might need done. She said that as my friend that’s what anyone should do. Thankfully, I have others in my life that believe the same thing she does.
This summer F lost her mother. She was a lovely woman. She often invited me to their home for dinner where she regaled us with tales of her youth, gave us sage advice, and served wonderful pies. I wasn’t able to attend the funeral, but I was able to console F in conversation. We both cried for the loss of her mother, and were able to find comfort in shared memories. During that conversation, even under such sad circumstances, we were happy, to be together because of our friendship.
I’m one of a handful of people invited to celebrate F’s ‘Second 40th’ this coming Saturday. I’ve been resting this week with the hope that my pain will be manageable enough so I’ll at least be able to show up to the restaurant to give her a hug. If I can’t make it, I know she’ll understand. I feel blessed that F is my friend and I am happy to be part of this celebration of her life.
Life has a way of reminding us of how fragile each of us and each relationship connecting us can be. As I’m working through my recovery from surgery and ongoing chronic pain, I’m trying to support a younger cousin to hold her life together while it disintegrates in front of her. She’s pregnant with her third child and her partner walked out on her and their two young children, who are five and two, days after her doctor ordered her on bed rest. From the sounds, and looks of things, he’s been planning to leave for some time but failed to mention it to my cousin who is now eight months pregnant.
As much as I’ve seen and experienced in my life, this shocks me, and I don’t understand – even with my parents’ history – how someone can walk away from his or her young, and unborn, children. I don’t understand how one person can believe they have the right to make such a significant decision knowing it will negatively affect the lives of four other people and move on with their life without missing a beat. I don’t understand what he tells himself when he chooses not to answer his phone when my cousin calls him in the middle of the night because she might need something for one of their children or she might be experiencing severe cramping, or be in labour – premature or active. I don’t understand how he can cut himself off emotionally from having any interest in knowing how the child she is carrying in her belly is thriving – or not. He doesn’t attend her prenatal appointments, he doesn’t ask about test results, he doesn’t ask about her pain or if she’s resting and he never asks if she’s eating well, or if she needs help caring for their other children.
I know that no relationship is perfect – and I certainly don’t believe my cousin has no fault in the breakdown of this one – but I don’t understand how he could choose now to leave. What did he tell his five-year old daughter when she asked where he was going as he packed his things? How does it feel not to be there when his children wake up in the morning and when they go to sleep, when he has been there every day of their lives since they can remember? How did it feel when he walked out the door leaving the heavily pregnant mother of his children behind?
I’ve been speaking to my cousin every day since this crisis erupted in her life a few weeks ago. I don’t believe the pain I’m feeling because of my illness is anywhere near as severe as the pain she’s feeling from the breakdown of her family. To ease my pain I can take pain medication but there is nothing I can offer her to reduce her pain. She speaks of her heart breaking. I can offer no cure, but because I’ve had my heart broken, I know the only balm that will give her pain relief, and possibly heal the rupture, is time.
I also know I must show her that our connection is not fragile. However, the only way my fragile, pained body can show that is with open ears and open heart, and I hope that’s enough to help keep her whole and strong.
I had forgotten how good it feels to get caught in the rain – until yesterday. My friend M, who is one of my oldest and dearest friends, sent me a text yesterday afternoon asking if I wanted to hang out. I asked when. He said whenever I could be ready. I told him I needed an hour to take a shower. Then we were on. Just as things used to happen before I was ill. After taking my shower, I was in my closet searching for something to wear and it struck me that I own a lot of clothes that I never wear anymore. It’s as if I allow my illness to dictate my wardrobe. In some respects, it does because wearing a belt or something with a tight waistband is extremely uncomfortable, but aside from that, I can wear anything. So yesterday, I picked out a summer dress I’d bought but never worn. It wasn’t shapeless or loose like the clothes I’ve become accustomed to wearing; and it felt good to put it on.
When M came to get me, he was impressed with my effort. I got in the car and we started to drive with nothing in mind but getting something good to eat. Then it became something good to eat that we could get to take-out and eat by the lake. We decided on burgers and landed at a burger joint where the owner added character, a history lesson, and laughter to our ordering experience. Once we had our massive burgers, fries with homemade gravy and drinks to go, we headed toward the water. We went to a familiar place that we’d been to before on hot summer days. When we got there, M opened the trunk of his car and pulled out two folding chairs he bought on his way to pick me up, which is such a typically impromptu thing for him to do. In the past, it might have been running into a department store to buy shorts because the pants he wore to work that day would hinder his enjoyment of the warmth of a patio somewhere that was our destination to sit, have drinks, laugh, and talk about whatever came to mind.
His preparedness made me smile. We started walking across the sand to find a spot to plant our chairs and dig into the food we earlier watched being made on a grill and was now sending wonderful aromas floating out of the bag. We settled on a spot close to the water’s edge where we could watch kite surfers and kayakers moved across the water by the wind and the waves. M set up my chair and made sure I was comfortable – going as far as draping his jacket over my bare legs to keep them warm. Then we each bit into the best hamburgers we’d ever tasted. The meat of the burger – that’s right I’m eating meat as ordered by my doctors – was so tender and juicy it required little chewing, and the gravy for the fries added another layer of delicious.
We were sitting for a short time when we noticed a line of dark clouds moving steadily over the line of trees behind us. We knew that a storm would hit soon, but we may have underestimated its arrival time. After snapping a few shots of the clouds with my phone, the wind picked up and started to whip the sand. M decided it was time for us to start moving back to the car. While I finished my burger, he began packing up the remaining food from our meal and our chairs. When I swallowed my last bite of burger, he told me to head for the car. By that point, the wind was fiercely stirring the sand and we had to shield our faces as we pushed our way in the direction of the car. Steps away from our target the skies opened and released big, heavy drops of rain that soaked us as soon as they made contact with our bodies.
Rainstorms & Laughter
Rainstorms & Laughter
Rainstorms & Laughter
We started laughing as M got me safely inside the car then worked frantically to get everything else into the trunk. We were laughing because this was one more incident to add to the long list of antics we’ve collected over the span of our thirty plus years of friendship – a nice day at the beach ending with a sandstorm and torrential rains. While I sat drying in the car, I could see M through the rear window struggling to shield himself with his golf umbrella while he tried to get what he needed in and out of the trunk. Finally, he made his way to the driver’s side of the car and as he got into his seat, the wind nearly ripped the green and white umbrella out of his hands. This only made us laugh more. We sat out the rainstorm in the car and watched lightning flash across the grey sky through the moon roof, as drops of rain pooled on the glass.
When the rain finally stopped, we went for a short walk. There was a point along the shore that M wanted to show me. From that vantage point, it’s possible to see the entire skyline of our city, and it was beautifully framed by breaking clouds that allowed a golden glow of setting sunlight to shine through. It was the perfect end to a day spent with one of my favourite people.
My Small Surrenders 