Summer Fog

I've been in a five day fog. Things are so surreal to me right now, I'm afraid there's something I'm not seeing. I'm hoping it will make more sense if I write it down.

I have more friends than anyone I know. Truly. I say that with no arrogance whatsoever, just gratitude. I'm an incredibly lucky girl to have the number of deep and true friendships that I do. I consider each of them an incredible blessing. I have a group of friends I jokingly call 'the cult,' partly because these women can never leave me. :) We're very tight, very close to each other's families. There are four of us, and we are committed for life. The other three have been a support to me in ways I can't describe and I hope I have done the same for them. I could go on and on about them, but that is not the point of this post.

Separately I have a friend named Rochelle. She has been my best friend for over 10 years and I have never known friendship like hers. She knows everything about me and loves me unconditionally. She knows all my junk - everything I've ever done that makes me cry in shame to think about, the good, bad and ugly - and she never judges me, just loves me. For reasons that are too sad and complicated to explain here, we lost touch in January after 10 years. It is one of the saddest losses I have ever experienced, and I miss her terribly. There have been times in my life when she's been my lifeline and she's the closest thing to a soul mate I've ever known.

One of my friends in 'the cult' has a son named Joey who is 20 years old. I don't know what it is to have a son, but if I did it would surely feel like my love for Joey. Since he was young he and I have had a bond that is hard to describe, but for which we are all grateful, especially me and his mom. When important issues come up in Joey's life, my friend Pam will call me and ask me to speak to him, because I'm an adult whose opinion he respects enough to consider. The years have been filled with great conversations with this incredible kid. He always wanted my opinions on decisions he needed to make, and he wanted to hear about my own experiences and how I handled them. Most recently, Joey wanted to move to L.A. to pursue an acting career. He's been successful as an actor. If I mentioned some movies and commercials he's been in, you would say, "Oh yeah! I know that kid." His mother heard about him dropping out of college and immediately got on the phone with me asking me to talk some sense into him. Joey and I talked for hours and as much as I hate to admit it, by the time we were through, I realized that this was a dream he needed to pursue, and I needed to tell his mom what I thought. So off he went to L.A. Well, since he's been there, he's done everything except pursue that dream. He's messed up the opportunity completely, and I got numerous calls from Pam telling me he was now taking drugs and spiraling downward. She needed me to call and kick his ass and I was on it.

I called Joey on Monday and didn't get him. In fact, I didn't get him on the phone until Thursday. I was coordinating my friends wedding and I could not flake on her, so I told him when all the wedding responsibilities were over, we needed to talk, and we made a commitment to talk on Sunday. He thanked me for calling, said he couldn't wait to talk to me and that he would call Sunday by noon. He never called. I called him, no answer. At 5 PM, I got a call from Pam and she was driving south from L.A., following an ambulance that Joey was being transported in, and she wanted me to meet them at the hospital. At 4:00 that morning Joey, drunk and high, wandered out of his friend's backyard in Topanga Canyon. He wasn't paying attention, fell 30 feet down an almost vertical hill, tumbling end over end with such force that his shirt got ripped off of his body. His momentum was stopped when his face smashed up against a tree. He didn't stop completely, however, and fell over the side of a cliff into a ravine below. A couple of hours later, unable to feel his legs, he got up enough strength to reach his cell phone, called his friends at the party who called 911. After several hours, they were finally able to get him out of the ravine and to the hospital. When I got to the hospital, I went to the trauma unit where I learned the extent of Joey's injuries. He has a broken nose, and will need reconstructive surgery on his face. He shattered his ankle on his right leg and will need surgery to reconstruct his ankle. He broke his left foot in three places, and sprained his wrist. But by far the worst injury is to one of his lumbar vertebrae. It completely shattered, called a burst fracture. I saw the x-rays and the vertebrae was in at least a hundred little pieces, some of which were embedded in his spinal column, compressing the nerves there. One piece tore the lining that covers his spinal cord. Joey should have died in that ravine, but he didn't. He should never walk again, but he will. After two surgeries to repair the vertebrae, the doctors have implanted a titanium cage in place of the shattered vertebrae, and they successfully removed all of the bone fragments from his spinal column, without causing major trauma to the nerves. They were also able to repair the torn tissue covering his spinal cord. It is an absolute miracle. The second surgery was this morning and was a success, as was the first. It's hard to gauge his mobility in his feet because of the injuries to his foot and ankle, but he has feeling in both.

As I was leaving the hospital today, I ran into my friend Rochelle's younger sister, who strangely didn't seem at all surprised to see me - that is until I asked what she was doing there. She assumed we were there for the same reason - to see Rochelle. My heart absolutely dropped. I was terrified that something had happened to this beautiful and priceless friend of mine. Whatever had happened six months ago to separate us no longer mattered. Last night she had a seizure and lost consciousness while standing in her kitchen. There was no one there to catch her and she fell flat on her face on her kitchen floor, splitting her forehead and breaking her nose. She had surgery this morning and thankfully, will recover fully. Since we haven't spoken for six months, and I had no idea how she would receive me walking into her hospital room, I nervously followed her sister down the hall. At first she was too groggy to respond to me, then when she did all she asked was how I knew she was there. She was disoriented and didn't really understand much of what I was saying, but at least she knew I was there. I stayed for several hours, knowing that I was given this chance to restore our friendship, one that leaves an ache in my heart to this day because of the way it ended six months ago. I knew I couldn't let her go again. Back then she was swimming in self-destruction and refusing the help she needed to pull herself out of it, including the help I was offering. Instead she buried herself in denial, feeling victimized by others. She thought I abandoned her in her time of greatest need, after loving me unconditionally. Six months ago, we could not see eye to eye, and there is a part of me that feels I let her down. I've spent six months mourning a friendship that I thought was irreparably damaged.

Between these two recent events, and Lisa losing her son a couple of weeks ago, I'm no longer sure of anything anymore. I feel lost, and that I'm floundering in the uncertainty that is surrounding those I love; surrounding all of us. I'm having to sit back and watch some of those most dear to me suffer incredible pain, life-altering tragedies and, in Lisa's case, insurmountable loss. My boss was nice enough to let me work from the hospital and not worry about coming into my office or going out in the field. I've been at the hospital pretty much 24/7 since Sunday. So down the halls I walk, between Rochelle's room and ICU where Joey sleeps, laptop in hand, the picture of professionalism and confidence. Confidence has always been something I can fake very well. But right now I'm a fraud. My confidence has not just been shaken, but the chair has been pulled out from underneath it. If I took the time to lean against one of those walls, I would surely slide down it in a heap of tears and confusion.

I don't know. I have no answers. I'm in a fog.

As I was saying goodbye to Rochelle today, she was half asleep. I took her hand, leaned over and told her I love her. And she whispered back, "I love you too. As much as I ever have."

To see the blessing in all of this means to thank God that after months of rehab, Joey will walk again. Rochelle will heal. And I have my best friend back.