On the Coast – Families Issue 97 I December/January 2019 | Page 36

A conversation
with a friend
By Catherine Schasser
“A
re you or your mother
scared you may take your
life?” This thought was in my head,
until I saw my friend look at me
and I heard the silence that
followed. I had asked aloud.
We sat at the dining room table of her
parents’ house in the town we grew up
in. This table has seen us through more
than 35 years of friendship and this
evening, provided its strong surface as
we took comfort from our tea and the
unspoken agreement to embrace the
conversation inevitably presented before
us. On my fleeting and unexpected visit,
we knew time was limited. Polite updates
of life’s progressions seeped in and out
of the conversation, almost teetering like
the Libran scales which has bonded us
over the years - we celebrated dad’s 80th
on the weekend, child one is teaching,
child two has just completed the HSC.
Now back to what really matters. You are
in your darkest days.
In addition to our conversation, I felt
as if the silence had also paused time. I
was looking in my friend’s eyes – eyes
which were so often shining with
laughter during our times together –
and saw a glaze. It was almost like a
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KI DZ O N T H E C OA S T
protective barrier, stopping the perceived
ugliness of the world from entering her
mind. I searched them, willing myself to
see a fragment of that light. Or was the
glaze, in contrast, keeping something in?
If so, what was it – fear, vulnerability,
sadness? Could it have been resignation,
a feeling of defeat, I wondered, and
hoped not.
“There were times, yes. I was jealous
of the dead and dying.” The tears flowed.
‘Hold a space’ I repeated to myself
mentally. Be here for her. Don’t over-
react.
With her only days home from a
three week clinic stay, I was grateful for
my friends vulnerability and rawness as
we dove into the reality of her life.
There were tears from my friend and
her mum and information sharing of
the strategies being learned during her
recent treatments. I heard of the
physical body pain that comes with
anxiety, the ringing in the ears, the
pounding of the head, the peaking highs,
followed by the desperate lows, and then
the need to sleep. Maintaining a job was
not possible. With the awareness of the
finite period of time we had together, it
was as if an unconscious frequency of
urgency was flowing between us (‘I’m
sure I’m talking much too quickly for
her medicated state to comprehend’ I
thought as she sometimes appeared to
be slow motion to me). Our souls
embraced this opportunity to once more,
support and extend the friendship we
began as nine year olds, this time, one
seeking healing, the other offering hope.
We shared our views of life and of faith
– that magic and unknown entity
designed to carry us through the darkest
moments, the hardest days and the
loneliest nights. ‘Hold onto your faith’ I
silently urged her.
As I embraced my dear friend on our
farewell, we held each other longer than
normal. ‘You’re one of my favourite
people’ we reminded each other. As
we held each other, I wondered if she
was implementing the practice of being
present, a focus from her recent Clinic
stay? We had discussed this strategy
earlier while viewing her work-book.
While my friend was thinking her own
thoughts during our farewell, I was
willing my emotion, intention and hope
to cover and embed itself on her being
and in her mind. I wanted her to feel my
feelings so strongly, they would see her
safely through the night and selfishly,
through her days.