The year my father died, I learned about friendship.
Up until that year, I hadn’t experienced much adversity It was easy to make and keep friends when I was happy, up for fun, and a fairly joyful and energetic person.
But the year my father was dying, I spent over 250 days in my parents’ town, 1000 miles from my home in Ohio. I was cranky, sad, and stressed out. Not only was I not physically present for my Ohio friends, I didn’t have much bandwidth for seeking out friendship or being a good friend. And yet friends chased after me.
In this series, “The Measure of Friendship,” I’m writing about remarkable acts of friendship when I most needed them. The first post was The Measure of Friendship: Kalisa. This post is about a birthday celebration for me when I was at my lowest.
A dozen friends, a decade of laughs.
We have a fun group of six couples, and we go on adventures together. We first bonded in Key West where Carrie demonstrated her ability to balance full cups of beer on her head. (You can see the cup here if you look closely.)
Steve and Chris had a bromance over a seafood tower, and apparently I gave a rousing speech about the necessity of attending a drag show.
Key West was followed by Naples, Cancun, and Hilton Head (twice), including a notorious suitcase incident of which we will not speak any further. In Napa we were missing two of our crew, but we managed to soldier on at beautiful vineyards with good wine and bourbon.
And in Vegas we surrounded Kelly and Tim while they renewed their vows, presided over by “Elvis.”
Why am I taking this trip down memory lane? Well, it’s fun. But also to demonstrate that this is a group of good friends who generally reach for each other for fun and laughter — not necessarily when we are grumpy and depressed.
Boy, did they prove me wrong.
A special birthday for a woman on the edge.
As my birthday neared and I was in Oklahoma five weeks out of six, this group was planning a surprise visit to my little hometown. They were going to sneak into town (which requires a flight and a few hours of driving) and take turns surprising me. I run into Walmart, and there next to the world’s largest Dr. Pepper aisle (no joke) would be Kevin and Marsha. Or I pull into my mom’s house to check on her, and Tim and Amy would be on the front porch. Steve and Cynthia might be sitting at the counter at the Hamburger Inn. You get the idea.
But I changed my plans, and managed to return to Ohio the week of my birthday. They pivoted, and planned a getaway at Chris and Carrie’s lakehouse.
(At this point, I was grateful to have a few days away from the situation in Oklahoma, where my father was slowly succumbing to Alzheimers. But I was weepy and worried and sad — really a fragile mess. Not a fun person.)
They made a perfect day.
We started with spa activities for the girls, while the boys shopped and prepared dinner.
Then we joined the boys at the most beautiful lakehouse I’ve ever seen. Kelly brought the women matching happy face sweatshirts from her store, Haven Grey.
We had a terrific meal, sat at the firepit while the sun set, and had a euchre tournament.
This was all FOR ME, for MY birthday. They all showed up for me and gave me a heck of a celebration. I hadn’t smiled or laughed so much in a year. I felt thoroughly loved. And that weekend put gas in my tank to return to Oklahoma feeling rejuvenated and even happy and at peace. My dad died four weeks later.
In the picture above, I paused mid-candle-blow to think about what I should wish for. I thought of all the heavy things weighing on me — my dad’s failing body and mind, my exhausted mom, my children who I rarely got to see. And I realized that my wish was to be surrounded by these good friends, feeling them wrap their arms around me.
Thank you to Kelly, Tim, Vito, Cynthia, Steve, Carrie, Chris, Marsha, Kevin, Amy and Tim, for making me smile when I didn’t think I had it in me. This is the measure of friendship.
