Just one person

In an earlier post, I talked about how it felt as though it took a village to get me through the days and weeks following my daughter's death. It seemed as though it took that many people to think of all the things that needed to be done, and because everyone was in shock, it took the energy of a village to overcome the sadness, to keep all of us moving through each day.

Today, I don't need a village. I was telling a friend recently about a couple of old friends of mine who've all but disappeared. One moved to another state, so I can understand that maybe our relationship is down to the occasional card or email. The other, I'm not sure what happened. It saddened me to think that these two people are out of my life.

I remember reading somewhere (letter to Dear Abby, maybe?) about a person wondering how to help a depressed friend. The person asking was given numerous suggestions, one of which was to always return a call from that person. Seems like just good manners to me. If someone calls, I always try to call back within a day. It's even more important to return a call to someone who at times can feel completely unmoored.

I don't feel alone--that's something someone said recently when I mentioned my friends who've disappeared. I do feel like it's harder to get help than it was initally. And I don't mean help as in come babysit my child, or listen to me cry and scream, I mean just chat with me, tell me what's going in in your day and help me hold on to reality.

A year ago, no one would have told me they were busy when I called. Being busy is these days a reason to do or not do just about anything. Busy becomes very different when you've literally looked death in the face. Believe me when I say I KNOW what's important. You would think everyone who'd lived through this with me would too, but that's not the case.

I read in the book The Survivor's Club about John Kevin Hines, a man who survived a jump from the Golden Gate Bridge. In the book, he talks about how alone he felt, and how a kind word from just one person, even a stranger, would have kept him from jumping.

I understand that feeling. A drowning person only needs one person to pull her out of the water. And it doesn't matter whether she's offered a hand, a hook, or a flotation device; all of these will keep her afloat.

I have one friend who tells me to call anytime, and almost always answers when I do. If she doesn't, she calls back usually within an hour or two. I have another friend who calls regularly. We don't often talk about how I'm feeling, and I don't usually call her when I'm having an absolute breakdown. But the regularity of her presence and our relationship is a comfort.

Now mind you, I'm not expecting everyone I know to drop everything whenever I call. My point is more that maybe everyone should think about what busy means. If you were to die tomorrow, what would you regret? What if the person calling you died tomorrow?

The one thing I can say that brings me peace is that my last words to my daughter were "Love you." And she said the same to me.