25 april 2004
by Lizanne Wilson
I walked in the door, tripping on the powder
blue sneaker with partially chewed heel
amid the backpacks, coats and books. My
head is filled with "To do" lists
of minutiae: Did the dog eat that sock that
I had in my hand this morning that I now
cannot find to save my life? Is there another
way to cook rice and beans? Is it time to
return to midnight grocery shopping? Did
my girls hand in their Girl Scout cookie
money?
My husband interrupted my mental list mania
with:
"Cath called, she needs to come down
this weekend with her girls. I told her
that we had plans and it might not work
and she said to call her back. I think she
needs to come down."
I am not a good "phone talker"
but when one of my inner circle of women
friends calls, I pick up the phone immediately.
This is more due to my forgetfulness as
a working mother of two ten year old girls
than of my integrity as a friend, but I
do it right away because of an unwritten
rule of intimate woman friends... Except
for my family, I will drop everything and
BE THERE for you when you really, really
need me.
"Of course you can come," I said.
"When?"
"Friday or Saturday will be fine,
whenever you like."
It was the last three days of my spring
break from teaching—my energy was
low and my house was a mess.
My dear friend Cath lost her mom to cancer
last summer. She found out exactly one year
ago that instead of being the picture of
health, her mom had terminal ovarian cancer.
Talk about a life changing moment. And the
anniversary of that day was, of course,
the Friday that she wanted to come and stay.
I had hosted people earlier in the week—my
guest bedroom contained stray popcorn kernels,
crushed Doritos and the potent scent of
Teen Spirit deodorant from my daughter's
birthday slumber party a week ago. I was
facing the possibility of losing my job
because of funding cuts. The dog was having
surgery.
Come, I said.
Are you sure?
You must. You are always welcome here,
my friend.
Do you have any friends like Cath? I hope
so. She is one of my Women of Importance.
(I list them in my address book under "W")
When Cath or Ellie or Cory say they need
me now. I stop everything and I pay attention.
Cause without my women, I would fall apart.
I turn 45 this summer and I've come to
realize that it's just a matter of taking
turns. That's one of the significant
things we do for each other as intimate
woman friends. We show up for milestones
both personal and psychological. We are
the glue that holds up our friend who
can't
do it alone right at the moment. A cold
beer, or clean laundry, the phone call,
the note, the funny movies just at the
right time. The wordless presence at the
door.
We are there. Our friend stands against
the adversity because she knows she is
not
alone. A women of importance is there to
support her. Serious illnesses, sick children,
miscarriages, deaths, surgeries, major
birthdays and divorces all bring us together
in force.
Depression, loss and despair are shadows
that we freely enter to hold a friend
in
need.
Not all of us have such women in our lives,
but those of us who do know that they are
a treasure.
We had a great visit together. When she
walked in the door, I thought it was my
turn to give, to nurture and to comfort
my old friend. We laughed and drank and
ate together. We watched our children play
as we had played as children. We laughed
till our sides hurt.
As she prepared to leave for home on Sunday
morning, I hugged her and I breathed a huge
sigh of relief. I felt so much better. We
waved good bye and looked at each other
with big smiles on our faces. No words necessary.
You are always welcome here, my friend.
Lizanne Wilson teaches Theatre to
elementary students at Baker Demonstration
School in
Evanston Illinois. She is a regular contributor
to MOMbo, and is the mom of twin ten
year
old girls. |
