For Such a Time as This

Our husbands introduced us after they met at the car wash one Saturday afternoon. We become friends instantly when we realized we both loved to work out and lived close by. She rides a bike, I run. She pushes me to 20 miles, I push her to 5. She has girls, I have Jake. She has him and I have Rob. Our lives merged with conversations about kids, husbands, finances, jobs, weight loss and working out. It's only been about a year, but the one thing I love about our friendship is the love we both feel deeply for our kids and husband. Having a friend who deeply loves and cares for her kids and respects her husband in the same way has been such a blessing in my life the past year.

"My heart is breaking," she tells me repeatedly as I sit with her in the hospital room while her husband lay a few feet away from us with tubes, and needles and a whole lot of stuff poking into his body I don't understand. I don't even try, but it is obvious this is not going to be a quick recovery. She is tired, sad and although, I have met a new friend each time I am there, she is lonely.

"My whole life is laying in that bed," she manages to get out holding back tears and wiping her face. I can't respond, nothing I can say will take away the pain and the fear she has at this moment. Her friends keep telling her "you're strong, you're a fighter, he's a fighter, stay positive," but really is that enough to make it through the pain. I consider myself a strong woman who has put up with and dealt with a lot of nonsense in my life but this has nothing to do with being strong. I don't tell her to be strong, I tell her sleep and eat because she needs to be well. I tell her talk to him and let him know she is there but she does all that. She rubs his arm and tells him to fight, she tells him she and the girls need him and they do.

She can't do anything else except wait...and wait...and wait until there's a change. I pray, and I pray and ask others to pray but I can't do anything else either. The clif bars, the banana, the crystal light, and today, the flowers I bring to remind them of the beauty of life and chocolate because...it's chocolate (Need I say more, girls?) can't take away the pain. I am not strong and it nearly breaks my heart to see her so sad. When I go to see her, I pack a bag of snacks and water, and I pray that it will be better than the day before. But I hold back the tears as she does too. We sit and she tells me the same story again and again. The updates, the visits, the blood tests, the drains, she can't think of anything else. Living in her "nightmare," as she calls it repeatedly, the outside world just keep going. I come showered, after a workout and a day working and ask about the kids, they haven't come to see him. "They can't see him like this," she says. And again, I connect, thinking about Jacob and how he might handle a situation like this, how I might. And I get it.

Her life has stopped for the moment and nothing else matters. When asked what we can do, "the only thing I want," she cries, "is for him to get better."

This story isn't over yet and we will be celebrating his life when he returns home but we have to remind ourselves of how quickly our lives can change. In an instant, we can be in a situation we never expected and in those times we have to be able to depend on one another for support. I am thankful I am able to be there, and I just pray that I am never to busy to notice and be available when those close to me need me. My concern for others is great but I am not very good at expressing it or knowing what to say or do. Through this and two recent losses in our family, I have realized it doesn't matter what you say or do, you just need to be there.

We only met a year ago, but I believe we were introduced "for such a time as this."