On Weathering The Storm

Today, Kendall and I went to Sophie Crain's funeral (Laura was Kendall's kindergarten teacher, and we decided to give both Kieran and Kendall the choice of going or not). It was a beautiful service, filled with music and tears and many people who wanted less to say goodbye to a precious little girl than to say "we're here for you, we love you, we care, we stand with you, and we want you to know that" to the family she leaves behind. We sat with my friends Vicki and Betsy, near lots of other DC moms and teachers and such. Some gentlemen in Army uniforms sat a bit further down the pew from us, which turned out to be a good thing, as they needed tissues and hadn't brought any (so we shared).

Kendall was incredibly good ... we'd talked with her beforehand, letting her know that sometimes it's necessary to put a lid on her natural ebullience for the sake of decorum, and that this was one of those times (although she'd be perfectly free to hand out from her inexhaustible supply of hugs). She walked quietly, sat quite still next to me through the service, and somehow managed to convey a solemnity that I hadn't thought possible of most 7-year-olds (but *especially* not Kendall) through the entire enterprise. She was a bit different on the way out than she had been on the way in, and I was about to ask her if she was all right when she said, "It's not fair, Mumma, is it, that Mrs. Crain's baby girl died?" A hundred different things went through my mind in a very short time that seemed very long; what I finally said was, "No, sweetie, it's not fair, but sometimes life isn't fair, and there's nothing anyone can do about it." This nugget of maternal wisdom was met with a rather heavy sigh from the child, who was quite pensive the rest of the way home.

Fair? No, it's not fair. It's not just. It's not right. It's absolutely the saddest thing there is (or definitely high on the list, if not number one on this particular hit parade), and this was without a doubt the saddest funeral I've ever been to, bar none (and that's likely not just my opinion, either; United States Army soldiers were sitting down the row from me, sobbing like I wouldn't have imagined grown men would do in public).

Life isn't fair, though, is it? We shake our heads and mutter at Life, we shake our fists at it, but in the grand scheme, what are we? (Hint: Go download the Kansas tune "Dust in the Wind".) It's not about what's fair, or at least I don't think it should be. Nope, I'd rather spend my time making lemonade (or, if we're running short of water and sugar, I'd say that a salt shaker and shot of tequila would be an acceptable substitute). Let's face it, every once in a while, Life stirs up an unbelievable shitstorm, and there's nothing you can do but tuck your chin down and get through it. If you're lucky, you've got friends who will hold your hand and bear you up so that when the storm finally clears, you're not too different from when it began.

And on that note, an offer: Some people haven't got friends like that -- friends who will sit and listen without judging, friends who will know when to hold your hand and when to argue with you, friends who can ask the hard questions and get truthful answers from you (or at least make you think about what the real answers might be). Some people don't think they've got friends like that. Some people suffer from a lack of friends altogether, having only acquaintances that aren't really all that close.

The offer? If you ever need a friend, give a shout. I'll sit with you, and hold your hand, and listen to what you have inside. A very wise man once told me that if we weren't supposed to look after each other, there would only be one of us here, and I believe that with all my heart.