it's a bird....or a plane...Nope. Just a Friend.

I’ve been spending a great deal of time of late thinking about friendship.  Due to my recent dependence on it, I find myself particularly invested in it and perhaps a tad bit critical of it as well (because, hello, have we met?).

I was acutely aware of friendship at my mom’s funeral services, likely because I was struck at the number of her friends there.  Not in the number of people in attendance but in the amount of true, bonafide, goddammit-we-are-gonna-miss-her girlfriends she had.  I thought about other women her age and wondered if they, too, have as many friends in their lives that truly adore them.  I doubt it.

Throughout my personal tsunami of her six-month cancer sentence, I’ve had plenty of occasions to dwell on my own friends and it’s been a profound source of strength.

As most will discover when sadness surrounds them, I found myself humbled to my core at the depth of kindness that was shown to me during this horrific ordeal.  With little fanfare or formality…

…complete turkey dinners walked up my driveway…

…pizza delivery men appeared at my doorbell…

…children were shuttled back and forth…

...and whisked away to keep them occupied during steamy summer days…

…sentiments from long ago voices filled my Inbox…

…wine waited expectantly at my front stoop…

…trinkets arrived in the mail…

…homemade baked goods were dropped off…

…people just…..checked in…..

A lot.

At times it seemed that people came out of the woodwork to offer nothing at all but good thoughts.  It was comforting and cathartic, more so when my daughter would quietly remark, “Wow….you’ve got really good friends…”

Yes.  I do.

(Quick -- albeit bitter --  side note:  I similarly found myself appalled at the absence of those who instead, retreated into the woodwork.  Shrug.  I have chosen not to dwell on these surprising no-shows and have instead simply utilized the Delete function of Facebook.  Viola.  Friends no more. Cue in that Staples button:  THAT was easy.)  I have decided that only true friends deserve my attention.

I believe that true friends understand the importance of what’s underneath…

…and that truER friends understand the importance of what’s underneath the casket:

My mom’s illness stole many things from her, the worst being her insistence on style.  What my sister and I witnessed during her final days was heartbreaking, if only because it was the farthest and unlikeliest portrait of the woman we knew.  During many late-night vigils we’d agree that, if she could in fact see what the disease had done to her, THAT would kill her instead.

However, true to form, my mom arrived to meet her masses like a rock star.  As if to forever ease our worries and secure her send-off on an undeniably positive note, she looked….truly… fantastic.  We were stunned.  And because I am now a believer in Signs…..I took this as her personal one – to us, her daughters, who had seen her at her worst.

Her friends – her real friends -- refrained from standard clichés.  Yes, her blinged-out Chicos jacket screamed her name.  Yes, she looked gorgeous, so not what one would expect given the circumstances.  And yes, she kept her great skin ‘til the end, a testament to great genes and a greater sense of humor, smiles and laughter. 

But her real friends didn’t just nod knowingly when they heard she was being buried in her red shoe boots (because of course she would be).  Instead, they reacted duly concerned when asking if we’d remembered to put them on without hosiery

The real friends knew:  my mom never, ever wore socks of any kind.

So now….

after an extended period of time as an absentee wife and mother….

and an unprecedented blogging hiatus (oy vey…so many questions…..Kelly Ripa – can we say icky and skeletal in the same breath?  Dare we start on the Real Housewives?  Do ALL teen drivers screech denial when “Honey, that was a pedestrian’ is brought to their attention?  So much to discuss…so much to catch up on…)

and a really, really deep breath….

I just may be ready to return to life as I know it.

Sometimes it’s not what we’d like it to be.

And sometimes a Delete button doesn’t always help.

But friends will get you through whatever you need.  Every time.

Especially the ones who know your sock preference.

Stick with those.

--- Tina Drakakis