On Friends - Vol. I
make new but keep the old.
This is the first in a series of anecdotal posts about my friends and how they’ve helped me through some real rough stuff. My friends probably won’t remember much of these events, and even though my memory is generally shit, these events have stuck with me.
I’ve collected friends from all eras of life: elementary school, high school, college, study abroad, internships, jobs, the many different cities I’ve lived in over 36 years. My husband doesn’t understand how I kept in touch with so many people for so long, but it just happened naturally. My closest friends are scattered across the world: LA, Boston, Chicago, DC, Atlanta, Sydney, Cleveland, Denver, Toronto, Portugal, NYC. I met two of my people when we were five. One I talk to every single day. I never realized how remarkable this was until it randomly started coming up in conversations. People would tell me it was unusual to keep such a close-knit pack for so long; a group of friends that came of age together and even after going our separate ways maintained regular contact, visited each other in our respective cities, attended each other’s weddings, met each other’s babies. Birthdays and bachelorette parties could have just as easily been a parentless house party when we were 16 (with better cocktails).
Most people probably have that one friend who they don’t see for a year but when they’re together again it feels like nothing has changed. That’s my entire crew. I am proud of who I am as a friend and like to think that in real friendships, you get back what you give.
K and her brother J once came to my apartment unannounced in New York because I hadn’t been out in awhile. I was feeling down about my job situation and worried about spending too much money so I went into hibernation mode. I buzzed them into my 5th floor walkup where I had been laying in pajamas all day, writing. The only light coming in was from the boats just outside my window on the East River. K & J hustled in, sat on my bed, asked me if I was ok, and demanded I get dressed, we’re going to dinner! At a time when I was down, they lifted me back up. On a night when they could have been doing anything in the city that never sleeps, they chose to come from Union Square to the Upper East Side and spend a few hours with me at a mediocre Italian restaurant.
After my mom got sick, K called every single day. As an LCSW, she gave me a crash course in navigating this side of the health system and caring for someone with cognitive problems. She helped, guided, informed me about everything: what questions to ask nurses and doctors, what to look for at rehab facilities, what Medicare will and will not pay for, what to do with my mom in her fragile mental state. She referred me to a care planner. She asked for updates all the time and always said “we” – “these are the choices we have,” “we need to find out about that,” “we don’t want to do that.” She made me feel like we were truly in it together - it was a constant reminder that she was there for me. I know she was aware of her phrasing, but she wasn’t giving it a second thought. She is truly just that genuine of a friend.
Then she offered to come down. She offered to leave her family and her two kids under two and spend time helping me take care of my one. It was the kindest, most generous gesture. I was immediately overcome with gratitude and tried not to let her hear me nearly cry on the phone. I told her how much I loved her and said I’d let her know.
