Greetings, TSN readers! It’s been much too long since I wrote my column, and I’m glad to be back. You may recall that I was your intrepid animal-story-writer, sharing tales of my encounters with ducks, cats, dogs, horses – you name it, I’ve probably written about it. You must forgive me, however, because I’m not going to write about an animal in this month’s column. Instead, I want to write about the ties that bind us together. It’s something I’ve been giving a lot of thought to, lately.
This past summer, I heard the awful diagnosis that was made on an old school friend. While I hadn’t had any contact with her in quite a long time, I’d known her since our earliest school days. Her diagnosis was ALS. A death sentence. A horribly cruel disease that shows no mercy.
I was surprised to learn that many of our old school mates were rallying around her, keeping her company, taking her to lunch, offering assistance. I was surprised because I thought we had all gone our seperate ways decades ago. Indeed, some of us had moved to different countries entirely. But in a time of unimaginable horror for our friend, the years between visits melted away as we all recognised the urgency with which we needed to respond to our friend’s situation.
I can’t say that I was on the front lines in this regard. I was more of a stand-by, waiting to be told what was needed. I attended a few of the lunches, struggling mightily to chat – and understand – my old friend, who was rapidly losing her ability to speak. I also went to her house one afternoon, along with several others of our gang of friends. It was a jolly affair as we reminisced about the old days, but I felt sad for that friend, who couldn’t really do much more than listen. And, once, I went along with several others of our former circle to visit her when she was in hospital. Every time I saw her, it became clear that ALS was moving very fast. Every visit showed how much more ALS was devouring our friend.
I got the word of her death in middle October. Of course I was sad, but more than that, I was relieved that her suffering and indignity had ended. Funeral arrangements were made, the date was set, and we who still live in the area began to make tentative plans for our time with those who would be returning to our small village to say good-bye. It was the worst kind of class reunion possible, but that inner core of friends from all those years ago were determined to be there, one last time, for our fallen sister.
I was able to spend an agreeable amount of time with that inner core, over the course of several days, and, in particular, my school bestie. It was as we all sat around a table in a local restaurant that the conversation turned to friendship, and the old days. My bestie was telling another of us that, after having moved all over the country, down the years, she was tired now, and considered it more work than she wanted to invest, in making new friends. I piped up and remarked that while I’ve made other friends, through the years, I find that the old ties are far more meaningful to me than any other friendships I’ve had. My bestie agreed, saying that she thought we who had done our growing up together still, after all this time, enjoyed a level of intimacy that we don’t have with other friends.
“It’s that small town thing,” she commented, “we know each other forward and backward. We know each other’s faults and weaknesses, each other’s dreams. We know the foibles of each other’s families.” Indeed.
We also know that, in times like this one, where we were utterly helpless to do anything more than offer our love and our physical presence to our friend, that it is in the coming together that we re-affirm those bonds. We hugged. We cried. We laughed. We told stories about the old days when we were all young and healthy, and had a lifetime to look forward to. And, after thinking about all of this, I did something that, upon reflection, I should have done a long, long time ago: I told my bestie that I loved her. Such a simple sentence, but so rarely said outside of a family or spousal setting. Why is that, do you suppose? After all, some of our closest ties are with friends, rather than family.
Wherever your most meaningful relationships are located, I encourage you to tell them how you feel. Life is short, after all, and sometimes, it’s cruelly unfair, so say what you can as often as you can. Until next time….I’ll give you a hint regarding next month’s column: her name is Gertrude and she’s a 17hh behemoth!