The Accidental Friend

Far be it from me to define what makes a person a real friend, a true friend, a best friend, versus an acquaintance, or a colleague, or a Facebook friend. But as a recovering surgical patient for the past four weeks (and staring at weeks ahead), I have had ample time to reflect on what friendship means to me and to see how friendship manifests itself.

In short, I believe I will emerge from this experience not only with two magnificent hips, but with better insight into how to be a better friend to those around me. I will be there for those who have demonstrated their friendship to me — some over a lifetime, some over a matter of decades, and some for only a few years, since my return to Charleston.

Recovery is always full of surprises, so this recovery should come as no real surprise. Those who are close to me know that my greatest recovery began in late 2013, after the death of my late husband at the hands of a hit-and-run driver. That recovery is a life-long process, but it, too, brought unknown discoveries into the meaning of friendship and kindness, often at the hands of strangers (perhaps that’s the point of a different blog). I learned then that friendships come and go — some who were closest to me during the worst time of my life seem to have let me go, while others have clung to me closer than ever before. Those are true friends.

They are the friends who took me out on New Year’s Eve, even though I was the fifth wheel. They sent New York bagels and cream cheese to help me and Allan (loving husband, in-house therapist, and the epitome of what it means to be a true friend) recover from my recent surgery (a very good call). There are multiple phone calls each week, usually an hour long. That’s a friendship that started in the year 2001, and has only deepened with each passing year, despite my exit from Connecticut.

Then there are the two childhood friends with whom I have reconnected in Charleston. It is not easy to “come home” again and expect to fall back into your childhood network. I was gone for a lifetime, 45 years to be exact, and cannot expect to be suddenly welcomed into people’s lives when I have been absent for so long. But there are two women with whom I have reconnected, both childhood friends, both of whom had also left Charleston for a number of years. Their on-going contact, our lunches out, their visits, phone calls, and our shared history are a source of tremendous comfort. Those are lifelong friends, and they are golden. When we are together, the years apart disappear. Conversation is easy.

A third friend, a native Charlestonian but a lifetime New Yorker, has done a wonderful job staying in touch. She was my sole Charleston friend with whom I connected during my Connecticut-New York years. She was a part of my important lifetime events, including my 60th birthday brunch. Her mother still resides in their childhood home, so fortunately she comes to Charleston almost monthly. So I see her more often now, but the phone calls are frequent (I am her primary source for book recommendations!). That’s a real friend with a lifetime history.

And then there are the friends Allan and I have made in Charleston since moving here in 2016. In particular, we have befriended one couple through Synagogue Emanu-El and another couple at a parking garage, where we had gathered to watch July 4th fireworks (long before Covid). Coincidentally, both couples are from Ohio (there is a very large Ohio contingent in SC), so neither of them had long-entrenched friendships in Charleston, though one couple came here because their children settled here after going to the College of Charleston (a common refrain. Young people come here for the College or the Medical University of SC and never leave; hence, we have excellent health care in Charleston.) These friends have texted, called, visited, brought food — done all the things you would expect good friends to do. And we just love them!

Now this list leaves out a whole list of others. Where are the neighbors? Don’t know, except for the wonderful couple next door who brought us shrimp and grits from their restaurant. They are the best neighbors ever. Where are the phone calls or cards from cousins, nieces or nephews? And does it really matter?

Well, I have come to realize at this stage of life that little gestures mean a lot. The joy of getting a get well card would have been a real thrill. My son’s in-laws, fabulous people in California, sent me flowers! How thrilling to have flowers delivered, or edible fruit from my brother- and sister-in-law in New York! When you don’t feel well, gestures both large and small, mean the world.

I have also come to realize that the important things in life are all about quality, not quantity. But I know at this stage of life, my friends, both near and far, have their own issues — and many of them of far more important than my hip replacement.

So I don’t mean to sound cranky. Rather, I mean to sound grateful. Grateful that I am walking down this path of recovery with all kinds of friends at hand, and knowing that I will try harder to be an even better friend in the years ahead.

As I continue down my own path, which is going very well though it is not linear every day, I am so grateful for the very deep, true friends who have come into my life at every stage.

Life is good. Soon, my hips will be, too.