Mourning with those who mourn. At the laundromat.

I celebrated part of Labor Day yesterday at the laundromat. I had a couple of bedspreads that I’ve wanted to launder but that are too big for my machines at home. While I was waiting, I spoke to a good friend whose father is dying. She spoke of the difficulty of watching him deteriorate both mentally and physically. I know her parents fairly well also. They are active and full of life and generous and laugh a lot. I have many great memories of time spent laughing with them. I felt inept and awkward at trying to provide words of support and comfort. This friend has helped me through some very difficult things and I felt frustrated that all I could do was offer a few meager words and tell her that I love her.

We spoke for only 10 minutes and afterwards I sat waiting for my laundry to finish. I started thinking about my friendship with this person and how it’s morphed and changed and matured over time. I thought about all the many things we’ve helped each other through and all the things we’ve celebrated. I thought about how sweet yet painful it must be to help prepare and usher out of this life the man who helped welcome and usher you into this life. I looked down and pretended to fidget with my phone as I tried unsuccessfully to keep from crying.

If I know this friend at all, she would apologize for making me cry or “bringing me down”, to which I’d reply, “Nonsense.” It’s an honor to temporarily help shoulder part of the grief of someone you care about.