Little Dog and I spent Christmas with each other. We felt no pressure to go somewhere or be somewhere we had been invited.
It was a quiet day. I had not decorated inside, had made no big anticipation of having this be the “most wonderful day of the year.”
We enjoyed the freedom from pressure previous Christmases had elicited. Grief from the loss of my spouse was on a holiday. There were no triggers and I didn’t need to erupt.
There was a lot of phone interaction, however, friends and relatives texting both before and on the big day.
Friends from where I used to live called Christmas Eve. They don’t like to text. I understand that. We have a lot of history, but don’t see each other much because of distance, so our phone calls are lengthy. I hadn’t seen them since my spouse died and I had gone too numb to contact them.
They bicker and gripe, as many couples do, and tell on each other. We laugh together about their exploits.
Fred told me they weren’t doing much. He wanted to get out more, but Susan didn’t want to go out to dinner like they used to, go to the movies or go on walks. Fred missed being out, but liked to cocoon and read, so was doing OK.
Susan said she had wanted to call me several times. She wanted to talk, but just didn’t.
I heard about their plan for Christmas Day dinner and demanded they share the recipe, even though I am a terrible cook. I asked how their dog was doing.
It was a pleasant phone interaction and we promised we would get together in the new year.
My pleasant Christmas Day passed and then early the next day on the news, “be alert, there has been a terrible suicide murder. If you know of someone with these behaviors, which were listed, be nosy. Don’t be afraid to ask if your friend is having trouble.”
My mind exploded. The Christmas Eve phone call with my friends.
Was that what she wanted to call me about?
Susan was doing a lot of things that were danger signs, danger signs of depression. Losing interest is one.
I got on the phone with both of my friends, demanding they get out of the house and walk. They are intelligent people. They knew what I was doing.
They promised they would. I told them I would check on them to ensure they did.
Then I had to put my feet where my mouth was spouting. Little Dog and I started to have longer walks. We both feel better.
And when I called to check up on my friends the next day:
They had been walking. They were griping about it, however, they did it. It gave us all a laugh. We need plenty of those.
Let me know how you are doing. I care.
Contemplation: How much invasion is acceptable to intercede on our friends’ behalf, not only with depression, suicide and domestic abuse, but other dangerous behaviors, as well?
Sincerely,
Lynn Brooke
© 2024 Our New Chances
Photo Credit: © 2024 Rachel Gareau
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