Category: Friendship

You’ll Be with Family

If this visit is at all like the last one many years ago, I will return with a sore belly from laughing and more memories than my brain can hold. There’s nothing like cousins!

I almost peed my pants.

My sister Jane and I are flying to Colorado to spend a few days in Breckenridge with our cousin Joyce, who lives in Leadville. We will be joined by Margaret, a close friend from Minneapolis.

Joyce falls between us, age-wise. Growing up across the street, she was another sister in the pack. If I had to use one word regarding her, it would be “laugh.” She laughs continuously and heartily and either astounds the listener or draws them into her hooting.

Joyce came very close to death last year, having battled an infection in her leg for many years. Jane and I decided to wait no longer to see her. Word came to us yesterday that she was at her wound doctor following a trip to the ER, underlining the importance of seeing her ASAP. A follow-up call assured as that she had received excellent care and would be able to join us. The physician, when queried regarding travel, expressed relief that Joyce would be with family.

Uh. She doesn’t know our family. The laughter could be felt through the texts as Jane and Margaret promised to prop her leg up on the bar stool every two hours, as recommended. Well, the doctor recommended the propping, not the bar stool.

I am spending more time and effort reconnecting with friends and family, even as we are losing many to disability or death. No one that I know personally will leave a legacy of world-wide import. Our greatest value is in our relationships with each other, sharing the joy of life.

If this visit is at all like the last one many years ago, I will return with a sore belly from laughing and more memories than my brain can hold. There’s nothing like cousins!

20% Off

Now our group of 10 is down to 8, 20% off. But the loss is much greater. Covid deprived us of the comfort of mourning, the sharing of casseroles and memories.

 

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

—
Mary Oliver

He died

Anticipated but heartbreaking. Word is received that our friend Roger passed away quietly in the night. The peaceful passing stands in contrast to his final years battling an array of cancers and therapies.

Initially rejecting treatment for cancer, he gave in to his family’s pleas to attempt recovery for their sakes. Younger daughter clinched the argument sharing her dream for him to walk her down the aisle at her wedding.

The wedding took place just days after Roger’s death. His wife, four adult children and spouses, and grandchildren mourned as they celebrated. It would not surprise me if Roger had made his presence known.

In our group of 10, Roger, like Frank before him, took more than his share of 20% of personality. His presence was enough, full of warmth and humor. He kept us laughing one evening as he tested Amazons’s Alexa: who is the smartest? Who is the funniest? Tell us a joke.

Never loud, he nonetheless commanded attention without dominating the conversation. No wonder that he was admired in the world of teaching, honored with awards of which he didn’t boast and likely did not seek. His eyes revealed his honesty: he was interested in you. He wanted to hear what you had to say.

Willing to tackle almost any remodeling task, he stepped aside when becoming ill to tolerate his wife’s passion for painting every item in the house and those found on the curbs. I fully expected to see Roger on Facebook covered in mineral fusion paint. A different color each week.

Now our group of 10 is down to 8, 20% off. But the loss is much greater. Covid deprived us of almost two years of friendship as, not wanting to risk infection, we could not visit both Frank and Roger during their illnesses. Covid deprived us of the comfort of mourning, the sharing of casseroles and memories.

This is hard to write, as tears fill my eyes. I am in sorrow for the loss of wonderful friends, but I am also angry at those who will not do what is needed to control this pandemic.

But I end on a note of love. Roger positively impacted the lives of hundreds of children. He and Frank both left remarkable families. And friends. How lucky I am to have known them.

Lifelong friends

Inseparable is not a word I would apply to our friendship. Removing the thread of our relationship would not untangle my life, but it would certainly leave a gaping hole.

Betty, myself, Gary, and my Big Bro Joe

We did the math. Betty and I have known each other more than 67 years, longer than I have known my own sister!

Betty and I do not recall life without each other. We grew up at opposite ends of the oil and cinder paved block in Moline, Illinois. Our birthdays were one week apart at the end of the year, making us along with neighbor Gary, three of the youngest students in the class.

We were opposite: she tall, lanky, and blond. I was short, full but not yet plump, and brunette. Our parents were older than other parents and promoted similar Midwest values of hard work, church, and humility. Our childhood was spent sharing houses, vacations, and families. Whenever she ran away from home, she ran to our house. I knew better than to run to hers. Betty bemoaned adolescent difficulties stemming from her adoption as a child. I bemoaned similar angst as the result of not being adopted.

In a coincidence of life, we lived in Germany for a short time when our children were young. Her son threw up in my car as he came to visit us. Betty came and sat with my younger daughter when my other daughter was hospitalized for an emergency appendectomy.

Now we both live in Arizona although several hours apart. This past weekend, we met in Flagstaff. Our husbands endured our recall of shared experiences and family quirks. We laughed, compared stories of aging, and explored our mutual interest in writing.

Inseparable is not a word I would apply to our friendship. Removing the thread of our relationship would not untangle my life, but it would certainly leave a gaping hole.

Thanks, Betty. Love you!

Making plans

We look forward to planning our next big excursion when we meet in Michigan. The dream is Portugal. It may only be a dream. But dreaming together can be as rewarding as the actual journey.

Toilet Paper was an integral part of our business. We learned that the cheaper product functioned well.

Ready to hit the road!

The plans were in place, reservations being made. We were flying from Phoenix to Chicago to join the two parties in our Midwest group (SOAR*) on a road trip to Louisville and then on to Nashville. A brief stay in Louisville would allow us to sample the spirits of the distilleries nearby. Nashville’s music scene was the major draw for these music lovers. 

Oops!

Then the Delta Covid surge hit. Hanging out in crowded Nashville bars to listen to great music appeared foolish.

Having visited New Orleans during the humidity of October, we had chosen dates to assure cooler weather. Those dates were inappropriate for an alternate trip to the north of Michigan.

Let’s try another tack

How difficult can it be for five retired adults, isolated and generally inactive during Covid, to coordinate dates for a brief trip?

Very difficult, as it turns out. Medical appointments, family get-togethers, museum tickets, theater tickets, and hiking plans filled our calendars. After much trial, error, Zoom, and Facetime, we settled upon the original dates and modified our expectations for our SOAR get-away.

Oh, well

I would like to rant and preach, bemoaning the ignorance of our nation in handling the virus which limits our opportunities and threatens our health. But I know that I am preaching to the choir, which I did for 20 years, literally. I stand back, though, and read this situation like a story, and marvel at the privilege.

My friends and I are all vaccinated and, at this time, healthy. Having lost one of our members to Covid earlier this year makes our friendship and love more precious. That we have the means to travel to the Midwest to spend time with this group marks our privilege. That we can afford a comfortable Airbnb in which to drive each other nuts is another mark of privilege. That we share a long history of family interaction and love each other to death is a blessing.

We look forward to planning our next big excursion when we meet in Michigan. The dream is Portugal. It may only be a dream. But dreaming together can be as rewarding as the actual journey.

Here’s to you, SOAR!

*SOAR is an acronym for Still On A Roll, commemorating the company that draped toilet paper over its members’ houses for various occasions back in the 80s and 90s. The history is complex, beginning with the unidentified viper surreptitiously delivering dark poetry to another member who responded as the mongoose. I think this requires a separate post to explain.

Shakeup

I once mused upon the balance shift when a sibling dies. Losing a close friend has a similar effect. SCS feels like a Jenga game with a base block removed.

 “I severely overestimated my ability and underestimated the difficulty.”

– Larry Sharp, Appalachian Trail, 2019 
following the guys’ hike on a teeny weeny part of the Appalachian Trail. Larry had a way of acknowledging his weaknesses with humor. He was no less kind with others.

Larry died.

Larry died of COVID earlier this year. I use the d-word. No euphemism eases the pain.

Our age puts us at higher risk not only for COVID, but for Death by other means. I won’t recite the losses of the past 15 months. The pandemic imprisoned us in our grief. Streamed funerals, we learned, were notable for including friends and family unable to attend live, but lacked the healing of human touch.

This past weekend we joined family and friends on the patio of Larry’s beloved Saugatuck Center for the Arts to celebrate his life. The Michigan weather, perfect for a day on the lake, framed our sorrow. The recent release of the vaccine and easing of restrictions allowed us embraces and maskless tears. The many eulogies disclosed nothing new: Larry was an all-round great guy.

SCS

Now we face life without Larry. His vacated position in the social structure of the Sharp-Cornelius-Steffen (SCS) coalition means that some shuffling must take place to maintain this personally vital organization. I write in all seriousness.

I would wish everyone a group of friends like SCS. The families have known each other for 40 years. We have traveled together with all our children, and more recently, just the adults. No matter than some of our kids are middle age, they are still “the kids”.

Here’s the difficulty. Larry was the instigator. I don’t doubt he had a spreadsheet template formatted prior to doing any research. Once the destination was agreed upon, Larry was on it, searching accommodations, activities, transportation.

Everyone had a part, but Larry was the driving force. He is the guy who picked up the phone to move the process, contacting us to elicit ideas, editing his spreadsheet as needed.

Shifting

I once mused upon the balance shift when a sibling dies. Losing a close friend has a similar effect. SCS feels like a Jenga game with a base block removed. Mike will maintain the spreadsheet. Pat will run the conversation. Diane and I will prod the guys, and Bob will follow along happily.

And each time we check into a hotel, a hole in the structure will gape, and we will sense the holes in our hearts.

Love you, Larr.

Death surrounds me

I now buy sympathy cards in a value pack, knowing that I will use the dozen within a few months. I also know that someday, someone may use a card for me.

Larry was the tallest and served as our beacon

Thank you, Zoom

We Zoomed as we had done weekly for several months, bolstering our strong bonds during the pandemic. One couple in Michigan, one in the Chicago suburbs, and we in Arizona. After Christmas, the Michigan couple retreated to Florida to escape the harsh winter. Our weekly banter covered the obligatory health updates (we allowed no talk of bowels), family updates, then lots of laughter.

Three weeks ago today we Zoomed as we had done weekly for several months. Last night, one of us died.

So close

We were so close to safety, the COVID vaccine the carrot on the stick. Afflicted by an autoimmune disorder, Larry did not qualify to receive the magic potion, but would be safe as people around him became immune. When the virus attacked, his body, unable to form antibodies, succumbed quickly to the deadly enemy. No one was prepared. He was on vacation. Who dies on vacation?

His widow Pat (No! She is crabby old Aunt Pat, not Widow Pat), faces a new life. She must return home alone, to a beautiful house designed and tended by Larry, with no Larry. How does she return to the community in which Larry was a driving force?

Of the three couples, Pat and Larry were the most “couple”, their interests and temperaments aligned. The rest of us were goslings.

Death surrounds me

Earlier this week, brain cancer took our good friend Frank whose smile and gentle manner will be remembered as long as we live. He and his wife Sharon were also a couple, perfect for each other.  

Word came of the death of a friend’s ex. Although not a part of our recent history, he was a part of our story. He had been in our home. His DNA was deposited in our midst.

Another friend lost her husband today to a long fight against Crohn’s disease. I had never met him, but love his wife dearly. I grieve for his struggle and her lonely journey.

That’s four this week. Death surrounds me. I look forward to freedom from COVID but feel as if I am plodding through dead bodies. The sorrow is heavy.

Facing mortality

When my mother lived independently at a retirement center, she commented that friendships were difficult because people disappeared so often. Some died. Some moved out to live with their children. Others departed with no explanation. Attendance in the dining room served as a daily tally.

Pandemic or not, we are at an age at which we face mortality, the greatest surprise and mystery of our lifetime. Weeks pass without loss, then, as this past week, we are reminded that death is lurking nearby.

I now buy sympathy cards in a value pack, knowing that I will use the dozen within a few months. I also know that someday, someone may use a card for me.