Comfort

Just in the past few hours, I've reached a point where I can go longer than a few minutes without tearing up about my friend's death. My mom's passing was hard, but we had known she was deteriorating so we were somewhat prepared. With my friend it was different. He was so happy with his the way his life was going and seemed to have so much to look forward to. Just after I got off the phone with his son yesterday, I sent a text to all of my sons telling them what had happened. I got messages from them within a minute, and by the end of the day all three had called. The youngest called within five minutes. Each was, in his own way, a great comfort.

The youngest is more the "sit back and listen" type, so he asked how I was doing and said how sorry he was to hear the news. He listened while I recounted good times with my friend and talked about how long we had known each other and what I liked so much about him. As we talked on the phone, I could feel my son's hug; it was like he was sitting next to me. 

My middle son called when he got off work, and immediately said what an awful tragedy it was and how sorry he was. He talked about being glad that he had had chance to spend more time with my friend this summer (my sons joined us for a night out and a day of fun) and what a cool guy my friend was. He said that at one point -- and I don't know if this was at my mom's house or while we were out -- that he and my friend had been sitting around, my son playing guitar and my friend listening. My son said he stopped a few times and he and my friend sat quietly together. I told him that was one of the things I liked a lot about my friend, his knack for "comfortable silence". Hearing my son mention so many nice things about my friend, whom he didn't know well, helped me.

My oldest son called when he was getting his daughters ready for bed. Sadly, he has had many friends die, and much of what he said came from a place of empathy as well as sympathy. He told me that, while I probably already knew this, my friend would not want me sobbing over his death. I said I knew that was true, but I should be allowed one day of mourning, even if that involved oppressive sadness. He had some other good words of wisdom, but mostly he just talked and listened, and expressed what a great guy my friend was. He had spent more time with my friend than my other two sons just because he lives up there, where we usually coordinated our yearly visits. Once, when I didn't have my car with me, my son drove me to pick up my friend, then drove both of us to Harpers Ferry and dropped us off. We called him to pick us up when we were ready to go home. It was like we were the kids and my son was the parent.

At some point I guess this black cloud feeling in my head will go away, along with the little hole in my heart. It does make me feel better to know that my kids are there for me in such a real and immediate way.