I Get By With a Little Help From My Friends

They cooked, they cleaned, they cared for children and drove them to and from school. They sent cards and called and hugged us through the worst winter of our lives. I can't say enough about the healing power of friendship when you are teetering on the edge of the abyss. Nothing says love like someone coming and cleaning your toilet.

Before I began treatment a group of women who I went to school with took me to dinner at a local restaurant. I arrived to find the table decorated for a pink princess party. We had crowns and cake pops with pink ribbons on them. Most of these gals had not been close friends in school, but we had reconnected by planning our class reunions over the last few years, and they showed up for me when I needed a boost.

Another dear friend met me for a retreat in the dead of winter and helped me to sort through some doubts that I had about how to proceed with treatment. Friends came and cleaned my house, brought casseroles and soup and cakes. I have a stack of cards six inches high that arrived in the mail on an almost daily basis, cheerful reminders of the love that I am so blessed to have in my life. Friends called to check on me just when I needed a lifeline the most and took me to lunch when I could drag myself out of the house. Complete strangers showed up at our door with gift cards and coupons because they heard about our plight through the amazing power of the internet. Through the months of chemotherapy, the hospitalizations and radiation treatments, we were continually lifted up by the kindness of others.

I learned that people truly want to help out in a crisis. When someone says "What can I do?" they usually really mean it, and are happy to have you give them a task. I learned to say "Yes, I do need help." I learned that it is a gift to others to allow them to make any small difference in a horrible situation.

One morning I was leaving the house and looked around at my family. My husband had hurt his back and he and my dad were both hobbling around with a cane. My daughter was on the couch recovering from her latest round of chemotherapy, and I was preparing for my next treatment. As I drove to town I was feeling sorry that my grandchildren were growing up in a damned nursing home. Then I went to a meeting and listened to someone talking about the chaos of growing up with alcoholism, and I realized how blessed my grandchildren are to be growing up in a home where ketchup bottles and cruelty are not flying across the dinner table. They live in a home where we are taking care of one another in the midst of our suffering. And most importantly they are experiencing the wonderful gift of community. They have witnessed the love and caring from others that many children do not have the opportunity to see.

We had a party this last weekend to try to thank all of those who have done so much for us. I was humbled by the shear number of people on the guest list. Only a fraction of the folks on that list were able to attend. I wonder every day what I have done to deserve such an outpouring of love from so many, and how I can ever repay them. I hope like hell that none of them ever need the kind of help that we have, but you can bet if they do I will be there cleaning their toilets.