Tag Archives: friendship

Sunday Musings On Monday

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My mind is wandering today. It is pieced. I’ve been working on the cover of my new book coming out soon. Visit my website JulieSeedorf.com if you want to know more. While I write, occasionally I think of other things, and thoughts of my week interrupted the creativity. The week was a mixture of happiness and sadness. Isn’t that what our life is about most of the time, only we don’t take the time to be thankful for the mixture. We want our life to be smooth sailing. No ripples to mix it up. That never happens. Why do we expect it?

I went to a funeral of a friend this week. I’ve known her for two years. She was sixty-years old, smart, funny, kind, loving and brave. She’s had cancer for as long as I’ve known her. I saw her at her lowest low, and her highest high when she experienced remission for a short time. Through it all she never complained, always lifting others up, and was a devoted mom and friend. If you met her you might have thought she had an easy life. I knew better as she shared life’s experiences with me, but at her funeral, listening to her daughter speak, I was surprised at the early hardships she didn’t share.

My friend, was a migrant, coming to this country when she was a child. She worked in the fields in Texas and California, starting when she was nine years old. They were twelve hours days, seven days a week. Her husband died in an accident when her children were small. There was no money and no life insurance, or help back then from Social Security, and she wouldn’t have qualified if there was until she became a citizen, which eventually she did. I suspect it wasn’t as hard to become a citizen back then as it is now. Life threw her and her children many hard knocks, yet she wasn’t bitter.

As I listened to her daughter speak, I thought back to the age I would have been when my friend was nine. I was twelve-years-old and hanging with my friends, going to concerts and leading a care-free life. At nine, her age, I was playing with Barbie dolls and very innocent about the world. I thought about my kids and what they were doing at that age and I counted my blessings, but yet I was appalled that we in the United States, back then, let child labor happen. Not only did I grieve my friend, but I grieved the way she had to navigate her childhood. I have been insulated in my life from what those of other cultures go through in my country, and in their home country. My friend’s family came here to give them a better life from violence and poverty. Would I have done the same with my children? I would like to say I would, but I don’t think I had the courage that my friend and her parents had to break through the barriers.

I never gave a thought to the people that drove up to Minnesota from Mexico and down south, that worked in our fields and in our canning factories. We needed them because there were not enough workers to fill the shifts. They became a part of our community for a few months, yet, they were not part of our community because they kept themselves separate from us. Probably because they would not be accepted, possibly out of fear of the unknown of another culture invading our space that we weren’t familiar with.

This is not a political post. It’s a post about that which we fear, the unknown of those that are different because we may not know someone of a different culture or…we may not know their history. We don’t take the time to listen and hear their past, and what is driving them to their future. I have been thrust out of my small town roots into a mix of different experiences and different cultures since I moved, and am learning more everyday about others and myself and the misconceptions I’ve had. Because I either didn’t know better, or didn’t take the time to go beyond my tiny little world except to judge that which I had no experience in. There is an enormous amount for me to still learn about the diversity of the world today.

I feel blessed to have known this woman and learn about her Mexican heritage. She was proud of her roots and made sure her children are too. We as her friends were given a small understanding of her rich culture, as she shared it with us with pride. Though she hadn’t much money, I would call her rich, and she felt that way because of where she came from. To her wealth was family, friends and faith. . A faith that never waivered during her journey. All of us are richer too because we knew her. Rest in peace. We will never forget your quiet lessons.

The Test of Time

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Joe wheeled up to the table each night in his motorized wheelchair. He always moved at a fast pace. I and the other residents sitting on the opposite side of the table would grab our dishes, because occasionally he cruised into the table sending things flying. Joe always smiled and chuckled when that happened, with an excuse that he knew we wouldn’t believe.

Joe

Most of us sitting around the table and in the independent and assisted living where we lived told stories of home. In our hearts we wished we could be back there. Joe was no different, but he had accepted assisted living was where he needed to be. His outgoing personality and witty remarks lit up the place.

I remember one conversation about moving away from where he lived his life. Joe said he missed his home in a neighboring town but there was nothing left for him there. All his friends were dead. There was sadness in his voice as he remembered those he shared his life and memories with.

Joe died a few months ago but I’ll never forget him or that conversation. When we’re young, death hits us, especially if it is a close friend or relative. I know it did me, but as I grow older I understand more the repercussions it has on those of us that are up there in age.

Many years ago, right after my husband and I were married, I noticed that whenever my mother-in-law picked up the paper she immediately turned to the obituaries. I thought it was kind of morbid, but at the time she told me it was because she wanted to make sure she didn’t miss sending a sympathy card or attending a funeral of friends that died.

Joe’s statement and my mother-in-laws words come back to me while pondering grief. I now understand. At our age friends and family leave us frequently for their heavenly home, sometimes numerous times a week. There’s more to it than mourning the person who was a part of our life for most of our years. It’s not having that person to talk to that shares your history. Each person shares a unique part of us that no one else can claim. Conversations, experiences good and bad, might only be shared with one or two people.

The other day I thought about the video of a unique funeral given for my cousin, Charlie, when he died. He used to take his four wheeler and travel in the mountain paths near his home in Northern California. That’s where they held his funeral, amongst the mountains and grasses and flowers high up in a place he loved. I wanted to share my thoughts with my cousin, Martha. She and I had watched the videotape together the first time. But Martha is having a conversation in heaven with Charlie along with all my other first cousins on my dad’s side. I can’t share my memories of those California times with anyone else that shared them with me.

A photo took me back to a memory of my high school years. Karen was one of my best friends in grade school and high school and beyond. Karen died when she was 39 and I still miss her, and I miss our conversations about our high school adventures. I could relate them to others but they wouldn’t get it because they weren’t there.

I asked my sister by another mother, Mary, if she wanted to come back and be my date at my next class reunion. Though she graduated a year after I did, we shared many of the same friends. It would be 55 years for me. Mary pointed out that the people she and I created most of our memories with were probably having their reunion in heaven.

My point? We mourn those we lose: family members, friends and acquaintances, but there is so much more under the grief. We also mourn the loss of someone who shared experiences, high points and low points of our lives. There is something sacred in being able to go down memory lane with a friend, or a family member, who are the only ones that share that same memory. Memories of the past that can’t be shared with your special person anymore leaves one feeling lonely. When you get to be the age I and many others are, there are more that shared your history who are gone than are alive.

Like Joe, we realize our tribe is getting smaller. I have a hunch when you hear that an older person is lonely and you encourage them to get out more, or participate more, that the loneliness is on a deeper level. We can be in a crowd of people, enjoying ourselves, making new friends, but yet there is deep loneliness that shares a place in the heart with heartfelt memories. It is a loneliness that can’t be replaced with activity, new friends or even a beautiful attitude. It is the loneliness of memories we can’t share with the ones that helped us create those past moments.

I sometimes get lonely when listening to music of my past because I remember where I was and who I was with when the music played. Yet, I also smile, sing and am thankful for who I got to share my past with. It’s a catch-22 moment and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

I haven’t quite accepted this is where I am in my life. As I made out sympathy cards this morning, too many for one week, these thoughts whirled about in my mind. I know I’m not alone. It’s the passage of time and it goes fast.

It takes a long time as the saying goes, to grow old friends. The people we now meet will become friends but we’ll share a new, shorter history. It doesn’t mean they are less important in our lives, but that we don’t have the years left to build a long history.

Recently I was watching a tv interview after a tragedy, and the person being interviewed said, “If I had known that would be the last time I would be talking to him I might have taken more time to talk.” Sadly we all feel that way at some point. And it also scares us. The fragility in our lives.

I take comfort in a memory that happened while my mother was in her last days. She was smiling the biggest smile ever. Her attention was on a corner of the room. My mom was the last of her family, her five brothers preceding her in death. I asked her why she was smiling and she said, “Because I am going to see my mom and dad and my brothers soon.” The memory of the moment gives me comfort that she knew and saw something we didn’t.

There is a thankfulness in our memories even while we feel the loneliness from those we lost. We have lived, made the memories, and met and shared lives with those old friends, and because of what we shared we have been blessed in our lives on our road to becoming senior saints as they call us older folks in my church.

“The thing is, when you see your old friends, you come face to face with yourself. I run into someone I’ve known for 40 to 50 years and they’re old. And I suddenly realize I’m old. It comes as an enormous shock to me.

~~Polly Bergan

Are They A Real Friend?

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When I am In a conversation, face to face, with friends and family I might mention something that happened to one of my Facebook friends, but I don’t say they are a Facebook friend. I can’t tell  you how many times the people I am sharing a conversation with ask me, “Is this a real friend or a Facebook friend?” It as if one of the many people I connected with on Facebook are not real people and don’t have real feelings or real experiences. Can a friend only be a friend if you have met them face to face?

I think of my pen pals who I kept in touch with during my teen years. No one, including my parents, asked me if they were real friends.

When I consider a conventional friendship it means we converse regularly, or when it has been miles and years that have kept us apart and we get  back together nothing has changed. I care about this person. I hurt when they hurt and I rejoice when they have good news. We might exchange gifts or cards over the years. My definition of a friend is someone who I share the good times and the bad times with.

I do that with my Facebook friends. I have those that after we connected on Facebook, we met in real life and continue our friendship in person and online, such as my friends Timya and Barbara. Shopping is always fun with these two ladies. Or Mary, another author whom I meet for coffee when our lives permit us traveling a distance to meet.

Then there is Heather and Andrea who live in Canada. We Skype every so often and keep in touch every night by sending each other our gratitude list. It keeps us grateful.  My friend Sue Ann is a wonder woman on her farm in Ohio. I loved the smell of the lavender she sent me as a gift and also her tales of her life on her little piece of heaven. She should be a writer. Or my friend CeeCee who has been there  when I even mention I might be down. She gets in touch with me privately, helping me get through rough spots and I hope I do that for her. And of course there is sweet Lisa who I met when she reviewed my books, and has a heart so big that she hurts too every time one of her friends is hurting. I could go on and on about those who I consider friends whom I met online and I have only mentioned a few.

Today my heart is grieving for my friend Joanne Kocourek. She died last night and went into the loving arms of our Savior. Her pain is over. I don’t remember when exactly I met Joanne. I suspect it was because I am an author and she read one of my books. But once I met her I found she was one of the most courageous women I have known. She suffered from mitochondrial disease. Her life was not an easy one yet she always had encouragement for those she met. Through her journey of hospitals and pain and setbacks she kept her joyful spirit. She used her disease to help others who were diagnosed navigate the system. The more I learned about her life the more I knew she was special. She adopted two girls with the same disease and raised them to have the same beautiful spirit and attitude. She called herself the chronic conditions survivor and others called her a warrior and she was.  Her faith in the Lord was strong and I suspect she would tell us she couldn’t have done it without Him. I learned from Joanne about compassion and standing up for right and wrong when the system knocks you down. I am going to miss her guiding and encouraging spirit as are so many others. Yes, she was a real friend.

So don’t ask me again if I am talking about a “real friend” when they are from Facebook.  We may never meet in person but these special people have hopes, dreams, are caring and compassionate and because of their friendship,my life is richer and better. I learn about different cultures and I have become more tolerant and accepting of that which is different because they have let me into their lives and their feelings. I am blessed for these experiences.

RIP Joanne. I am sure you are now able to dance and sing with the angels.