Ruminations

In a heroic act of normalcy, my husband and I dashed to the Farmer's Market Saturday morning before heading to the hospital and my seriously ill son.
This may sound like a heartless and unfeeling act by a dispassionate woman. My God, how could you go fruit shopping with your son in the hospital?
But to me, making sure I had enough raspberries and blueberries to feed my family for the week, and enough to make jam and start the winter storage hoarding, was an act of anxiety reduction.
I know. It made sense at the time.
You see, I've been worried about that raspberry situation for several weeks now, and I haven't gotten much jam made yet this summer, what with Sarah's headaches, multiple trips to the doctor, and that dog of mine... so I a little fruit therapy seemed warranted.
Of course, Zachary had a bad day on Saturday, adjusting to different pain meds and fighting nausea. I wasn't prepared for a step backward, so I was thrown for a loop and my anxiety ratcheted up several notches beyond it's already sky-high rating.
Zach is doing better again today, thank goodness, but it's going to be a long road back to health.
I've spent a lot of time alone with my thoughts these past few days (and believe me, if you could hear my thoughts, that's a bad place to be). Zachary has mostly slept and I've sat somewhat paralyzed in his darkened room. It's been too dark to read, though I can't concentrate enough to handle anything more than a short magazine article anyway, and until Stephen lent me his laptop, the days have been long, dark, and full of rumination.
Turns out the effects of fruit therapy wear off fast, as I've been thinking about all those berries sitting at home waiting for attention, along with the dogs and, of course, the girls, who have spent way too much time home alone this past week. Thank goodness for good friends who had them over for two whole afternoons. (The girls, not the dogs)
At the market, while still buoyed by my fruit purchases and not yet in the thralls of buyer's remorse, we passed a couple we used to know. Well, I guess we still "know" them, though now they'd be in the category of "former" friends.
Let's just say, when I needed her most, this friend, with whom I had shared so much laughter, so many feelings, dropped me like a lead balloon.
She was depressed, but hadn't told me; I had just lost my father and wasn't coping well. She complained, I defended, and asked what was wrong, had I done something to offend?
Denials, back and forth, and she checked out of the friendship.
I don't know that I've ever been more wounded. The loss of this friendship reverberated throughout my life, affecting other friendships of mine, and causing to me withdraw from almost everyone, save my kids and husband.
I thought I was over it, but I guess all losses stay with you, in some form, forever.
So I saw them as we passed at the market, said "hi, how are you?" as we both kept walking.
The sting of that loss has come back to haunt me a little these past couple of days.
I'll never understand the "why" or even the "how" of something like that, and certainly regret other friendships lost as a result of my emotional cocooning all those years ago.
Today, I treasure my friendships more than ever.
My friends sustain me, care for me, laugh with me and at me.
They mean the world to me.
I think sometimes in life we have to experience certain losses to appreciate what we have.
And believe me, I do.