I wrote last night, ever so briefly, about Indy losing her mother. I fell onto my pillow reflecting upon the other half of the story.
Indy heard about her loss at 2am on Sunday morning. Her family gathered together to share the news, support each other.
As of Sunday morning, Mike had mentioned this tragic loss to one or two friends. At 1pm, I received the call.
“Is it true?”
I didn’t know. Mike’s friend told his wife, who saw Indy’s friend S in church. S called A who called C to confirm the news. C called me at home. I called Indy. Within 20 minutes, I sent an e-mail to another half-dozen friends who forwarded it on to those within Indy’s inner circle. Before dinnertime on Sunday, I received such an outpouring of love in my inbox that Indy now has meals scheduled well into next week. Another friend offered to babysit my kids, so I can help with both hands. Indy reported a phonecall from Iowa. The news made onto the blog, onto Facebook. Everyone knows.
Cookies will be made, flowers ordered, cards sent, gifts arranged, love offered.
In the halls of preschool, another friend offered to bring cookies for the preschool party in her place. The Pastor already knew; mutual thank yous were exchanged for supporting our friend.
“Is there anything else we can do?”
My van will be honored to transport friends to be with her for the Visitation. In the preschool parking lot, we counted the rsvp’s, and determined that my 8-passenger minivan may not be big enough for this event. Laughter rang out in the rain. Yes, our biggest problem is transporting all the LOVE.
This tangled web of friends . . . we all know, we all care.
Consider it done.
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Monday, December 15, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Ted
I looked at my calendar today and I thought about Ted. Of all the people with whom I shared my high school experience, I probably think of Ted more often than most. I doubt Ted thinks much about me.
He may not remember my name.
In the past month, I have been very “helpful” within my community. I organized a group to help with Habitat for Humanity. I made a pillow and wrote a poem for a friend fighting cancer. I am co-chairing a giving tree program. I helped to organize and execute a group of 15 or so women to make Christmas tree ornaments for a charity. I hosted a cub scout meeting. I hosted another family for Thanksgiving. My family shopped and cooked a meal for 50 folks we otherwise would have never met (one man even took our picture). I presided over a homeowners’ meeting. I attended a PTA Council meeting and spoke on behalf of my son’s school. I even attended a Board of Education meeting.
That was just November.
For every event or opportunity that I have the pleasure of promoting, I feel there are at least ten that fall to the sidelines. We all say ‘no.’ I try to say ‘no’ with no guilt, no apology, and very little explanation.
I remind myself of Ted.
When Ted and I were 15 years old, we worked together at a church camp. I cannot say we were good friends, but we had known each other since early elementary school. He passed every test he felt like passing. Naturally smart, he ran with a streak of menace about him. I knew him for too long to buy into the ‘tough guy’ routine, but we simply were not in the same circles, really. I saw him in a few ‘gifted’ classes and at church.
His mother was the original “church lady.” If something happened in our church, her name was on it.
Ted liked medieval weapons. You know, throwing stars, brass knuckles, num chucks and the like. He had taken num chucks to his father’s car a few days earlier. I heard his parents had him arrested, although I never confirmed that rumor. He was always frighteningly clever. That day, he was angry.
We were in charge of small children. This was a church day camp. The oldest person present was 21 years old (a week or so later that responsible 21 year old would be purposely dousing me with lighter fluid, but that is another story). Ted stormed off into the parking lot.
I walked after him. It went something like this.
“Ted!”
“What do you want?!”
“Ted, what’s going on?”
“I’m p$%ssed. Go away!”
Silence, save for his fist hitting his car.
“That D*mn B!T**ch!”
“Who?!”
“My @#$ mother.”
“She seems alright. I mean, she does a lot of stuff for the church . . . ”
“OH, YEAH, that’s right. She does a LOT of stuff for the stupid church. Yeah, she doesn’t give a CR#*P. She does a lot for the church to make HERSELF feel good and important, f*%g high and mighty, she doesn’t care about ANYONE else. F&%* B%&*%ch.”
More silence.
“So, fine, Ted. You are SO SMART. You can run circles around anyone in our school and you’re going to throw all that away, just because she’s stupid?!! That makes sense. You are WAY smarter than that, Ted. You can do anything you want if you don’t screw it up.”
He stopped hitting the car.
We walked back in silence, and never said another word about it.
I heard your message, Ted. I wonder if your mother ever knew how much her 'tough guy' missed her.
He may not remember my name.
In the past month, I have been very “helpful” within my community. I organized a group to help with Habitat for Humanity. I made a pillow and wrote a poem for a friend fighting cancer. I am co-chairing a giving tree program. I helped to organize and execute a group of 15 or so women to make Christmas tree ornaments for a charity. I hosted a cub scout meeting. I hosted another family for Thanksgiving. My family shopped and cooked a meal for 50 folks we otherwise would have never met (one man even took our picture). I presided over a homeowners’ meeting. I attended a PTA Council meeting and spoke on behalf of my son’s school. I even attended a Board of Education meeting.
That was just November.
For every event or opportunity that I have the pleasure of promoting, I feel there are at least ten that fall to the sidelines. We all say ‘no.’ I try to say ‘no’ with no guilt, no apology, and very little explanation.
I remind myself of Ted.
When Ted and I were 15 years old, we worked together at a church camp. I cannot say we were good friends, but we had known each other since early elementary school. He passed every test he felt like passing. Naturally smart, he ran with a streak of menace about him. I knew him for too long to buy into the ‘tough guy’ routine, but we simply were not in the same circles, really. I saw him in a few ‘gifted’ classes and at church.
His mother was the original “church lady.” If something happened in our church, her name was on it.
Ted liked medieval weapons. You know, throwing stars, brass knuckles, num chucks and the like. He had taken num chucks to his father’s car a few days earlier. I heard his parents had him arrested, although I never confirmed that rumor. He was always frighteningly clever. That day, he was angry.
We were in charge of small children. This was a church day camp. The oldest person present was 21 years old (a week or so later that responsible 21 year old would be purposely dousing me with lighter fluid, but that is another story). Ted stormed off into the parking lot.
I walked after him. It went something like this.
“Ted!”
“What do you want?!”
“Ted, what’s going on?”
“I’m p$%ssed. Go away!”
Silence, save for his fist hitting his car.
“That D*mn B!T**ch!”
“Who?!”
“My @#$ mother.”
“She seems alright. I mean, she does a lot of stuff for the church . . . ”
“OH, YEAH, that’s right. She does a LOT of stuff for the stupid church. Yeah, she doesn’t give a CR#*P. She does a lot for the church to make HERSELF feel good and important, f*%g high and mighty, she doesn’t care about ANYONE else. F&%* B%&*%ch.”
More silence.
“So, fine, Ted. You are SO SMART. You can run circles around anyone in our school and you’re going to throw all that away, just because she’s stupid?!! That makes sense. You are WAY smarter than that, Ted. You can do anything you want if you don’t screw it up.”
He stopped hitting the car.
We walked back in silence, and never said another word about it.
I heard your message, Ted. I wonder if your mother ever knew how much her 'tough guy' missed her.
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