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This ancient proverb has been reverberating in my head for ages, particularly during the past 5 months since my darling Dad died. I have been absolutely overwhelmed - flummoxed, even, by the kindness so many of you Planetarians have shown me since then in oh, so many ways. Here are but some:
- the thoughtful, caring and compassionate post comments you've left;
- the kindly, gentle emails you've sent checking in to see if I'm "okay";
- the care packages you've popped in the mail 'just because' and always handmade or carefully chosen because you know my taste, not to mention divinely wrapped (because you also know how much pretty wrapping makes my heart sing);
- the soul-lifting phonecalls when we've connected on a beautiful level and talked in shorthand as we already know each other's thoughts on so many topics because we've gleaned those precious details through reading each other's blogs;
- the Facebook comments and messages you've left and the banter we've had on Twitter;
- the constant source of connection to the outside world you've given me at times when I've felt so alone in the depths of my grief; and
- the support you've extended to me when I've felt mired in the trenches of motherhood or been pained by the disconnectedness caused by my post-natal depression.
You have been, and are, my friends in need. Beautiful, life-affirming and heart-warming ones.
You have been there for me as I watched Dad's health fade away in front of my eyes, leaving behind a shadow of the man I adored with all my heart.
And now you are here for me again now that Mr PB has lost his job.
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I cannot believe the extraordinary outpouring of compassionate, thoughtful and caring comments you've left on my last post. I have read, and treasured, every single one. I will respond to them gladly when I have both the time and the precious energy.
Thankyou, from the depths of my heart, for taking the time and effort to write them. You have no idea how much they have boosted my spirits in recent days as the enormity of what has happened has started to sink into my consciousness.
Now that we've moving out of the 'triage stage', we have some headspace to reflect upon where we're at and where we'd like to head. We can't unscramble the egg. What's done is done.
Now we have a chance to choose other paths, ones which are more closely aligned to the passions which make our hearts sing.
I have no idea where they will lead but I'm confident with you as my friendly cheerleaders, we'll make it through this rough patch. A little bruised maybe but still intact and with hope in our hearts.
Several of you Planetarians have also been there physically for me in my hours of extreme need.
The morning after my Dad died, I had the extreme delight and privilege of having Naomi of Seven Cherubs visit me at home. We'd never met but we hugged as old and dear friends. She *knew* where I was at. She arrived, generously laden with food to pop in the freezer, just to ensure we wouldn't have to worry about cooking in the awful days to follow in the lead-up to Dad's Thanksgiving Service.
She provided the most gorgeous and caring attention to, and interest in, me for the next couple of hours as I poured out my feelings and wept on her shoulder.
She listened so attentively and asked the kindest of questions, especially "And what are you going to do for yourself, Jane? You need to take care of yourself in the months ahead".
And then she left, hurrying back to the conference she'd left, just to be there with me. That thought has stuck in my mind ever since. I haven't been in a position to really act on it much, regrettably.
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Friends indeed.
I am blessed to have found you all through this glorious bloggy caper. I can never thank you enough for being there in my times of need.
I only hope I can return the favour to you when the time comes.
