Someone once asked me how long I knew one of my best friends. I thought for a while then replied, “I remember standing on my tippy toes on the fender of a baby carriage and pulling myself up over the edge to catch a glimpse of the new baby girl who had just arrived at our neighbor’s house.” Now, this is a long time friend.
I met another of my best friends when I attended a Cub Scout organizational meeting one summer afternoon. I was trying to get my youngest son involved in a troop outside of our own town. Not knowing anyone, I felt compelled to recite my resume of scouting experience and our family statistics. I was volunteering to be an assistant den leader. Two Cub Scout leaders announced that my son and I would fit nicely into their dens. I listened in amazement as the two leaders set out their cases as to why my son and I should belong in each of their dens. After a couple of minutes, it was settled and we were chosen. First, we were co-leaders and now, we are best friends. What a tremendous loss it would be if, she had not chosen me.
Old or new friends, by chance or choice they are such a precious part of my life. I am blessed to have so many wonderful friends and they are a part of my survival and recovery. My friends set up a schedule to ensure I was not alone while I slept in dreamtime. They cleaned me, adjusted and suctioned my breathing tubes, ensured I was turned in the bed to prevent sores, listened to doctors, urged nurses, fought for me and encouraged me to live. Beyond the hospital, they fed my family and when I returned home for over a year they brought meals to the house. When I awoke from dreamtime, I could not talk because I was intubated and was using American Sign Language to communicate. In my foggy minded state with partially paralyzed arms and hands, I could not understand why they couldn’t understand me. They could sense my frustration and tried to learn sign language – what a wonderful act of love.