Come Together

This past week has granted me some unexpected lessons in unexpected places. And, as much as I would sometimes like to think that I can live and survive on my own, I am beginning to see that I am letting myself believe a grand old lie. I can't live alone. I can't survive alone. That makes me vulnerable. In some ways, it makes me weaker. But in many ways, it makes me stronger.

Here is how it began.

On Monday.

My husband went back to school.
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He left the house long before the sun came up, long before I heard morning revlie drifting across the valley from the Air Force Base, long before I was even coherant.

And he didn't come home until my daughter had gone to bed, the National Championship was well into the fourth quarter, and we found out that my aunt wasn't on the Antiques Roadshow after all (apparently another person also had a first edition of the Book of Mormon that had been under continuous ownership a bit longer than my grandfathers' copy had).

The thing is, the day wasn't even that long. This is why.

I had two friends call. We had long chats both times. I put myself out there and spent the day emailing and texting with various friends. Luckily, Kevin took some good naps and stayed fairly happy all day, despite her teething pain (does it always seem like this girl is teething? Yeah. It's because she is, and has been, from about the time she was five months old). Along with a sweet note and some well-timed emails, texts, and phone calls from my husband, I knew I was not alone.

The next day was a different story. I was a hermit. Kevin was cranky. We stayed inside all day. I wasn't feeling well and I was exhausted. So we didn't do much. And I was lonely.

I caught the last little bit of Anne of Green Gables the Sequel (move #2) on TV the other day. I watched the last 20 minutes just to see that kiss on the bridge (you know, the one between Anne and Gilbert that you are willing to watch six hours of film to experience). And, along with that, this line from Miss Katherine Brooks stood out to me: "Oh, Anne, loneliness has gotten to be a disease with me."

A disease. Yes, sometimes loneliness does feel that way, and I've had my fair share of bouts fighting off that infection. I was also reminded, however, that in our day and age--diseases can be cured. Sometimes you just need the right medicine. On Monday, I got the medicine I needed. On Tuesday, I didn't. On Wednesday, I put forth more of an effort and I did better. And today, Thursday, I learned a lesson I will not soon forget.

I ran with the same group of friends throughout most of my high school years. Most of the time, I felt very much on the outskirts of the group--don't get me wrong, I was involved, I was invited, I was usually around. I put myself there, on the outskirts. I  wasn't always the one they called when they wanted to have a good time, but I like to think that when I was needed, I was included.

And although I haven't seen a lot of these friends since graduation and perhaps a missionary farewell or homecoming (most of us missed each others weddings, even), or perhaps a chance enounter at USU, I learned today that when it really counts, everyone is needed.

One of our friends in this group is in the hospital. He's in very serious condition. When one or two of the friends that have stayed close with him found out what was going on, the rest of us were alerted. Word went out. Pray for Chris. Pray for his family.

Come together.
Right now.
Over me.

Everyone is needed. Every prayer counts. Here is how you help. Share a memory (remember that time the cops showed up and Aaron was stuck in the trunk and we all thought we were going to be arrested?). Set up a donation account at the bank. Give whatever you have. Give your love. We're still friends, remember?

Sometimes the cure is in each other.