The year my father died, I learned about friendship.
You might have seen my earlier posts about the extraordinary acts of friendship that came my way during a really crappy year. This post is about two sets of Church Ladies who taught me about friendship (and faith), and they are nothing like Dana Carvey’s Saturday Night Live character.
Church Ladies, Part 1 (Small Group Women)
In Ohio we attend a terrific huge church (Crossroads), where you find your way into a “small group” for community, study, etc. Our small group currently includes six couples who have been together for over a decade. Here are four of the six couples at a crazy Super Bowl event at church:
We six small group women make a point of checking in, grabbing the occasional breakfast together. Our conversations usually center around our kids — in the old days dilemmas around prom dates and college applications, and more recently a flurry of wedding planning. In other words, we hear about the good things in each others’ lives.
In the 16 months before my dad died, I had no good news to share, and I was unavailable — physically and emotionally — to share in the events the others were living. I missed a wedding and several showers. I was not a good friend. So while I was drowning in my own drama, what did they do?
They put the full press of friendship on me.
At least once a week I got a text from my small group women checking on me and asking for updates. They heard the undignified details of the ravages of Alzheimer’s. When I was home in Ohio, they took me to lunch and didn’t act embarrassed when I cried at the table. They supported me. They knew the first names of my dad, mom, brother and sister, and asked about all of us. And prayers were said every day for us.
I was as raw as I can imagine a person being, and they took me as I was and loved on me. Here’s an exchange three days before my dad died:
And then when he was gone:
I hope in these texts you can feel the love and support sent my way. There’s something else that strikes me re-reading these texts, almost a year later now: the openness with which they discussed their faith. These are not women who walk around in choir robes with their hands folded in prayer; they’re each pretty quiet and personal about their beliefs. But in this group, and in my darkest time, these women were vocal and honest about their faith, and used it to build me up.
These women embody the measure of friendship, and they deserve a shout-out: Amy, Cynthia, Jill, Marsha and Melissa.
Church Ladies, Part 2 (Methodist Lunch Ladies)
After Dad died, as we were planning his funeral, the minister at Mom and Dad’s local Methodist Church asked me if we would like to have lunch at the church before the funeral. Hmmm. I asked the numerous questions bouncing around in my head: “How does that happen? Do I hire a caterer? How much do you think it would cost? Do I need to arrange for tables and chairs? How many people could come?”
Pastor David shook his head, and managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes at me. “Now Laura, your mom and dad have been members of this church for over 60 years. The ladies of the church would love to provide lunch for as many people as you want. You just give us a number, and we’ll take care of everything else.”
What?!? Really??? Turns out, yes.
We invited 40 family members and out-of-town guests to join us for lunch before the funeral. The room was set with flowers on the tables, and the Church Ladies showed up with ham, macaroni and cheese, potato salad, green salad, rolls, sweet tea and lemonade, and banana pudding and brownies.
I gave you the names of my Small Group Women, but I can’t give you even one name of the Methodist Lunch Ladies, because I don’t know them. I assume some of them knew my dad, but maybe not. They did it because this is what you do; you take care of people. This is the measure of friendship.
For the other articles in this series, please see:
The Measure of Friendship: Kalisa
The Measure of Friendship: A Special Birthday Celebration
