I was all set to disparage (especially younger) men, most of whom I felt incapable of coming through when hard times fell.
I could not have been more wrong.
First off, my son has been a saint, having offered up his apartment these many weeks, sacrificing his bedroom as if he were offering mere crumbs, and showing himself to be tender, caring, loving, generous, consistent and protective...throughout what could not be more difficult times.
I have also received several fond email from my brother, a man I did not think inhabiting the planet; a most thoughtful missive from the son of my favourite (husband-and-wife) professors, a young man with whom I more than once shared cigarettes and poetry discussion on the steps of the UPEI cafeteria; a series of lively email from his widowed and grieving father; a friendly paragraph from a nephew; constant and lively communication from one of my favourite new friends, a young man I met last year as a result of a short story contest; concerns and condolences from men with whom I volunteer and from other men with whom I work; queries from men in the neighbourhood and from men who call themselves my friend; communication from men who knew Don long before I did, and, today, a card sent care of my son from an old writing friend with whom I have not been in contact since before Don died.
I think I have said before that it is so easy to see who didn’t, who wasn’t, who isn’t, who can’t...the careless, the prurient (if you want a story about prurient, have I got a tale for you), the shallow, the selfish. After all, we make so many excuses for adults who cannot find the wherewithal, the kindness, the pencils and pens, the stamps, the telephone number, their address books...to call, write, email, send a card, or simply ask.
Add to this my lifelong friends; the book club women; my daughter’s friends – Crystal, Christena, Lesley, Keira, Gina, Joanne, Sean, Shawn, Steve, Sandy...I can’t count that high – some of whom feel more like family than friends of family; Mary’s family, including a brother-in-law who is more devastated than he can express; friends I have made since my move to Toronto – it isn’t possible for me to remember everyone.
But as long as I live, I shall never forget the number of women – and men – who time and time again have called, written, asked, offered, suggested, assisted, proffered, gifted, befriended, humoured, hoped, visited, stayed and made me laugh.
I am counting on all that you have given me in the recent past to sustain me in days to come.
Thank you.
