Friend Level Platinum

I was talking to a young person recently who had experienced the death of his mother. He mentioned that he thought some friends were just around because they felt sorry for him, and that it felt weird. When I asked what he meant, he said they hadn't really been friends before his mom died, maybe just a grunt in the hallway now and then, but now these teens reached out to him, commented on his social media, and wanted to get together.

His feelings make sense to me.

Teens crave authenticity, and if anything has a whiff of disingenuousness, they will sniff it right out. No one wants a pity friend, because it feels out of balance. We want to be liked for who we are, not for what we've been through.

But here's what I said to this teen, since I'm a bit farther down the road, grief-wise, than he is, and I've got 30 years on him of seeing the complexity of life.

I told him I, too, had people reach out to me after Jack died, and my friends list is vastly different now than it was before Sept 8, 2011. Many people came into my life, and yes, it was a direct result of what happened to our family. However, those friendships are not based on pity now. A one-sided relationship is not sustainable in the long-run, but a friendship with someone who has already PROVEN a willingness to reach out despite awkwardness, is a treasure. Empathy and generosity are amazing qualities in a friend. How great is it to know up front that a person has those?

I also told him many people exited my life, never in an overt or hostile way, but because things became so complicated after Jack died. How impossible would it have been for us to hang out with baseball parents immediately after the accident? What about families from youth group, when we no longer had a middle schooler? Friendships shifted. We changed churches, jobs, schools, and neighborhoods. We had no energy, and some relationships faded away.

I believe many friendships are for a particular season in life, whether it's due to having babies close in age, working on a project together, being in the same school, or even in the aftermath of a tragedy.

I told the young man that if his loss led to his being placed on people's hearts, and they reached out of their comfort zones to express sympathy or be a friend, that's never a bad thing. There is a level of intimacy that comes from experiencing hardship together, while it could take years to get there with friends who don't know what you've been through. Some of the new friendships will stick and grow, while he will remember others just as a warm light in this dark season of grief.

Both are okay.

I've learned so much from the people who rushed toward me, rather than away from me in 2011, and I'm still learning today.

Yummy!

So, turns out I broke Tim's car.

Remember when it conked out on me during my writer's retreat earlier this month and Mike and others came to my rescue? Well, turns out even good old Southern generosity cannot heal a cracked engine, so we now have the unanticipated expense of buying a new car. Yuck.

Most people who buy new cars are a bit sad to see the old ones go. So many memories. Mix tapes wedged in a broken cassette player remind us of our carefree college days. In the case of a family car, there are macaroni necklaces hanging from a rear view mirror-- missing sippy cups found in "the way back," and the way every stain tells a story. I can remember Margaret barfing up goldfish on an Amelia Bedelia book in this car. Shadow's muddy paws on the black upholstery after we went geocaching on a soggy day. Marks from Jack's baseball cleats. The crank windows that would confuse the heck out of neighbor kids when we gave them rides.

Since our family doesn't love change-- remember this picture of Jack and Margaret saying a tearful goodbye to our old green toilet?-- I know that getting rid of Tim's Jetta will be tough. New car = no Jack memories in it. No Margaret, Jack, and Shadow wedged together in the back seat. No Jack learning how to drive stickshift in 2 years.

Getting rid of the old car is sad, but it does give me the chance to poke fun at Tim a bit by telling you a little college story. You may have noticed that Tim is a fine looking man. And by fine, I mean f-i-i-i-i-n-e stretched out to 3 syllables the way Jimmy Walker would say "Dy-no-mite!" back in the day.

Well, when we were at Wake Forest, apparently Tim caught the eye of a few gay guys on campus. We didn't hear this first-hand, so I can't vouch for its accuracy, but because I have always greatly admired the opinions of gay men (Hello early 90's equivalent of Clinton Kelly and Nate Berkus!) this only raised Tim in my esteem. Good taste in accessories, good taste in men, they were playing my song.

We also heard that these guys had bestowed upon Tim a nickname, much in the same way my sorority sisters would say, under their breath, "There goes 'Wolf Man,' 'One Nut', or 'Sparky.'"

Tim's nickname? "Yumm Yumm."

Imagine my delight, years later, when Tim, Baby Jack and I received his randomly issued plates from the DMV reading "YMM-5555." Too funny. I've gotten a lot of mileage out of this one!

Tim may miss his old car, but I don't know whether he'll miss those plates.