Passing

The message came just after lunch. My friend's mother had passed after a long illness. She was sitting beside her. Her passing was peaceful. It wasn't unexpected, in many ways, it can be seen as a relief. 

I'm not going to go into details, as the story of my friend and her mother is not mine to tell. 

We've been messaging over the last few days. Nothing big, just the odd, "How are you doing?' and "Yeah, okay. This is hard, but an honour," type notes. Little niblets every few days. Nothing intrusive, just gentle offers of support, providing her with the offer that there is a person on the other end of whichever platform there with an ear, if she so wished. She is away from her family, as she lives interstate from where her parents reside. 

We haven't seen each other in years - but keep in touch over the web. Our parents also live in the same town, and I've been chancing a meet up for a few years, but it wasn't meant to be. 

Today, a little after the news, I gently asked if she'd like me to pass the news to a few mutual friends. One less job to do for her - and more gentle support, albeit online. "Yes, please." Came the reply. The mutual friends were messaged.

I've had a few friends lose a parent in the last few months. Geetangeli's beloved father died a few weeks ago. At 91 and after a stroke, he went quietly, peacefully after a long and well-loved life. I've always admired the relationship Geetangeli had with her father. He was a lovely man. 

And as many of my friends are in their 50s, this is the time that our parents start to ail and fail. Some quickly and with grace, others fight all the way. Some don't know what's happening at all. It's something we all have to face. 

On my end, I'm not one to ignore friends whose parents are ailing. I'm not in their face, but I do try to drop the odd message. Or some friends get a cat or dog video to give a smile. (I did this for my sister when my niece was dying - it's like "Here's 10 seconds of joy - nothing will make this better, but this is a small reprieve.")

It's letting them know they're being thought about, while not going over the top. 

It's a kind thing to do. 

There's also a reason I do this.

My father died 29 years ago. I was in London, I couldn't go back for the funeral due to the circumstances I was in at the time. 

My mother called once to let me know what had happened (again, not an unexpected death). A couple of friends called by once. I took a week off from work and painted out the lounge room because I couldn't be at work, but I needed something to do - and for me, keeping busy was the best thing. I'm not religious. I'm not cold. I was also single. My flatmate, bless him, was an absolute muppet. 

The kindest thing a friend did for me was to come over with a couple of joints. She said, "Smoke them, don't smoke them. I'll come back in a week." She did. She got about half her stash back. I have never forgotten that kindness, the odd puff of weed took away some of the pain, if only for a little while. 

It was the loneliest time in my life. 

I don't want anybody to ever feel like that. Even if it is the odd virtual message. They are told they are not alone. 

The grief will come. The ifs and whats and whens. The considerations. The reminiscences. The plans. The re-considerations. Once the shock passes, there's the processing. The feelings that will come lapping at your feet one minute, and with the force of a tsunami the next. 

But she knows that she's not alone. 

And that's all that can be said for now. 

Today's song: