It was hard. And good.
I tend to stress a lot about parties now. They shake my foundations. They never used to. As I have repeatedly said, I have been out of the loop for a long time and that means that many of the people I care about do not hear from me as often as they should and I cannot expect them to jump whenever I set a date. It makes me feel a lonely and insecure and frightened; it is isolating. But it is an isolation which, in this case, I am largely responsible for.
I have friendships which weather distance and silence. I have friendships which do not require consistent attention to remain firm. Those friendships have within them an innate respect for each other, and a deep trust in that respect because it has remained constant in the face of all our human flaws. I treasure those friendships. But not all friendships thrive when starved of sunlight. Sometimes the attachment is not developed enough to withstand the tyranny of distance and sometimes, the nature of the friendship is something else altogether. There are “everyday” friendships as well as lifelong ones; friendships based on shared lives and shared experiences. As we go through life - change schools, change jobs, change hobbies, move away - our friendships change with us. We no longer have those connections which tied us together. I do not think these friendships are any less meaningful because of their dependence on proximity, and they are no less important to us. Currently, I have no “everyday” friendships. No one knows the petty details of my daily life; the minor passions, the small triumphs or the small mistakes. They are all invisible.
I was disappointed by the people who did not respond to my invitation, I was disappointed by cancellations. I was distressed by the idea that those who came would have too few people to talk to. I cried. Several times. My anxiety devolved into physical symptoms - a churning stomach, an inability to eat, a tension in my shoulders that screamed at every movement. And I will admit that much of my worry was superficial. In spite of my much vaunted perspective, I reduced Caspar’s party to some kind of measurement of my worth. Worse, some kind of measurement of my popularity. Wouldn’t those who came look around and think how pathetic my lack of people was?
But of course they didn’t.
It is mind-boggling how narrow our focus can become, how self-destructive we can be. How we can ignore all the things we should appreciate and simply wallow, as though our lives were hard. How we indulge our narcissistic depressions as though ennui and anomie were illnesses rather than chosen states of mind.
So here is my wealth of people and my belated appreciation. Please forgive me if it is boring to read. It deserves to be written.
For my cousin B, and all her family, who sent the most beautiful wishes and the most sensitive present, both of which moved me to tears.
For my Uncle J, isolated in truth on the other side of the world, who called me on the phone for the first time ever to give us his love.
For J and Dy, and my cousin D, who had other commitments but would certainly have been here if they could. For my cousin D’s children who are a richness in all our lives.
For R, who by rights should have been a friendship which passed with a change of jobs and yet for reasons unfathomable to me has shown me a loyalty over years which I could never do justice to. And for his family and his brand new son, all of whom I am yet to meet, and all of whom would also have been here if they could.
For C, my oldest friend, and the very measure of a friend, who needs to take care of herself right now, and not feel guilty about commitments she cannot keep.
For T, who stood up for me in court after a sexual assault, even having known me for such a short time; who lost his job, and held my hand for long months and who will always find me whenever we lose each other. Who, although he could not attend, took the time out of his full weekend to bring a present for my son whom he has never met.
For PC, whose love, like mine, is larger than our previous relationship. Who always answers my call when I need him, who provides me with second opinions when I am worried about Caspar’s medical treatment and answers all my questions patiently, even though he chose to leave his doctor’s life behind him years ago. Who, car-less, travelled all the way out here to meet my son in his first few days of life, bringing me French champagne and sushi. Who, car-less, travelled all the way out here to attend the party, although I have seen him rarely in the last two years. Who, basically, has been giving far more than he has received lately.
For H, a friend lost a decade ago, who has memories as warm as mine, and a heart as open as though it had only been days. Who has a generous spirit which made room for my selfish absorption then, and continues to do so now. Whose bear hugs at Caspar’s party brought me back to earth and the reality of all I have to be grateful for.
For K, my closest friend for many years and the only friend I have lost through a situation fraught with anger and broken trust. After years apart, she contacted me and came to Caspar’s party. Perhaps we might begin again.
For my neighbour G, who has tolerated my abandoned house, its overgrown yard and the constant vandalism there, who protected my interests before he even met me and has shown such non-judgemental consideration and support while I work to rectify the situation. Who would have been present if only a pipe had not burst.
For the 5 children who stay next door every second week, who come in to spend time with Cas and me, who pop over to bring us drawings and lollies, who were eager for Caspar’s birthday and who surrounded him at his small table, playing with his hair and pinching his cheeks. Especially for R and K and J, who blew up balloons and amused Cas while I prepared food and polished cutlery. Especially for E, who was distraught that day, as only an almost-teenage girl can be, and who emerged from her barricaded room to give Caspar his present. And especially for K, who gave up part of her own birthday weekend so she could celebrate with us.
And for Big Sis, whose patience with me has been sometimes strained but nonetheless limitless. Who helped me so much that morning, in spite of her spinal injury and her pain and still felt like she had not done enough. And for her B, who would not let me pay for ice and BBQ gas, who cooked so I could tend to the guests and who talked to everyone in spite of his shyness.
And, last but not least, for my mother. Always here in spirit, who loves me unconditionally despite our difference, who is my example and my rock. Who loves Caspar in a way that can never be matched.
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