Cheshire called a little while ago to let me know that the mother of a dear friend died.  Yesterday, I think but am not sure.  This was someone who lived very far away but we liked each other the first time we met and have been in some kind of touch, mostly sporadic emails, over the years.  I went to her daughter’s wedding two weeks after David died because we had planned to go.  It was a wonderful decision because the family folded us into them and gave to us without asking for any return.  I always expected that one day . . . one day we might spend more time together, might do a road trip together, do a theater week in New York or London.  It is not regret that I feel — perhaps some for not seizing time that we might have spent together — but loss of possibility.

And I feel such sadness for the family.  I remember those days and I so wish I could spare everyone that I care about the pain of such loss.  That sounds so trite, so pat and easy.  Life can hurt so much and there is no getting away from it.

I wanted to send a quick condolence email to her daughter and dipped back into the file of emails that were sent to me three years ago.  My eyes sting, I remember both the pain and the love that was extended to me.  How very lucky I was to be wrapped in love and support as I stumbled from day to day.  I was held up by angels in the guise of friends.

I am too far away to offer any real help and support but I send up wishes and prayers that these friends will have friends who will do as was done for me.

My sadness is deep.  Not near what they are feeling right now.  Not near at all.

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