Letter to my friend

My Dear Friend,

I've been texting you for days to see how you were feeling, if you needed anything, if Gary was taking care of you. I've been reminding you that you're old and need to take it easy and just take whatever time you need to heal.

I've been telling you that everything is fine on our crew, assuring you that I'm not really going to cut off Tommy's fingers because of his non-stop tapping, even though we both know that I threaten him on a daily basis.

I've assured you that my trainee is progressing well, that Adrienne has everything under control and that we all are playing nice.

I wasn't overly concerned when you stopped responding because I know how much you hate your cell phone and the habit you have of turning the damn thing off when you get home. I wasn't concerned at all because we all knew you'd be okay. This was a bump in the road, a warning that was recognized and acted on before something terrible happened.

Saturday when I went to work someone asked if I knew how you were doing. "She's doing great!" I cheerful replied, joyous in my ignorance.

This morning I found out that I'd misunderstood the question, I wasn't being asked how your surgery went, they were asking how you were since you went back to the hospital on Friday. What? You went back to the hospital? What happened? No one knew how you were doing so I called your house...no answer.  I called your cell...no answer. I called the hospital and talked to your nurse, who could tell me nothing but gave the phone to your daughter.

My heart broke when I heard what happened. It's still breaking.

When I got off work I went straight to the hospital to offer my support for your family, but they weren't there. The nurse said they had just left and might be getting something to eat. Perhaps I wanted to search them out in the cafeteria. "No", I told her, "I don't want to bother them." Instead I wrote them a letter offering my help with anything they needed.  I remember so clearly what it's like to sit day after day in a hospital waiting room, to hold the hand of your loved one as they fought for their life.  I remember eating nothing but hospital food for a solid month, dreaming of a home cooked meal. I remember trying to figure out who could watch Bella while I was away. I remember feeling so alone, so fearful to leave for even 10 minutes to eat.

I wanted your family to know I was there for them, I could cook meals and bring them to the hospital, I could watch your grandchildren so your children could be with you, I could do laundry so Gary could have clean clothes. Whatever they needed I would do. I would take care of your loved ones as you'd offered to take care of mine.

As I sat in the waiting room I thought about all the times we went outside to talk, all the times I would break down in tears over Brandi's tribulations, all the times you would hug me and tell me it would all be okay.

I remembered you teaching me how to crochet the beautiful baby blankets I made for Bella, and how you promised to teach me how to can fresh vegetables for my family.

I remembered how only a few weeks ago you were telling me about items you planned to make for Brandi's next fundraiser.

I remember how each day we would show off new pictures of our grandchildren and how we talked about the joy their births brought into our lives.

I remember the last night we worked together before your surgery, how you poured out your fears to me while I lightly brushed them aside with a "no worries, easy peasy...you'll get through this without a hitch." I believed what I said, I really truly did. I remember hugging you tightly, rubbing your back and telling you that I loved you, how much I valued your friendship, and promising you everything would be okay.

You know what else I thought about while sitting in the hospital waiting room? I thought about my birthday and how I didn't want a normal birthday dinner but instead wanted nothing but appetizers. I remember how you bitched for days trying to get me to change my mind and how I stood my ground. It was MY birthday and I wanted what I wanted.  I remember watching you wrap dozens of little smokies in dough so I would have exactly what I want, bitching and moaning the entire time but the twinkle in your eye and the smile on your face telling me you where happy to do it because it's what I wanted.  I remember how I suggested the same food for your birthday dinner, with you making the Lil' Smokies because you had sooo much experience. I remember your immediate response of "BITCH" and the way we both cracked up laughing.

I have years of memories with you but I need more. I need to learn how to can, I need to learn how to crochet better, I need....I just need MORE.  I need to hear your voice again, I need to hear you laugh and say "Well, BOCCIE BALLS!" when something didn't work the way you wanted it to. God, I love your laugh!

I'm scared, I'm so terrified that the fear has a numbing affect. I can't imagine not seeing you everyday, not sending you stupid pictures with sassy sayings about your coffee addiction. I can't imagine never tasting your homemade salsa again.

Please get better, please, please, PLEASE don't stop fighting. You can come back from this, I know you can. Your friends need you, your family needs you. Just FIGHT your way back to us and we'll all be here waiting to share the fight with you.

Just...come...back.