"Superiorly Strong...."

We’ve been teasing Julie about her blood sugar peaks and valleys this past week. As we lean over her bed and kiss her pretty face, we’ve been telling her she’s just too sweet for her own good. But when you think about it, is there really any way to be too sweet?

Now, saccharine is another thing. Or smarmy. And then there’s the category of people I like to call “Splendas”…technologically-engineered sweet. You can always spot them. The sweetness and light never really quite makes it to their eyes. Their generosity always comes with a catch. The friendly trill in their voices could just as easily be coming from a v-chip implanted in the base of their skull.

TRULY sweet people fall into an exalted category. My closest friends have proven this
to me over the past few days. First, I’ve known my friend Ron since we both interned at the Washington Post in 1984. Ron got me my first full-time job at a newspaper, by recommending me to the managing editor of the St. Petersburg Times following our summer at the Post.

I still can’t comprehend what he saw in me that made that made him put his fledgling career rep on the line by recommending me--a college dropout who had spent most of the Post internship cringing with fear and insecurity. But Ron was one of just 2 people I clung to that summer, because of his hilarious sense of humor, and because we were both from the Midwest….Illinois for me, Indiana for him. (Heartland is in the HIZ-ouse, y’all!!!)

In the 23 years since that summer, Ron and I have remained good friends. That’s mostly ‘cause, though we’re both seasoned professionals, our psychological age is still firmly entrenched in 1984. And Ron never forgets my birthday! It absolutely astounds me every year to get a card or an e-mail or a message from him during the first week of October…I mean, this man travels all around the world re-designing newspapers, for God’s sake. How does he manage to remember my birthday? (Especially since I think he was born in June….but it could be November. I mean who has TIME to keep track of that stuff???)

This year, Ron had just gotten back from a month in India, two weeks in Nairobi, and a week in Manchester, England. He was jet-lagged and battling a cold, bronchitis, and a few other bugs thrown in for good measure, but I got my birthday greeting from Ron. In fact, he’s been reading my blog regularly, and sending me all kinds of lovely feedback on it, so he knew I was back in the States dealing with my sister’s crisis. Ron sent me prayers, hugs and love along with the birthday greeting voicemail.

Now that’s sweet.

Last night, my friend Faith, who’s struggling with her own mother’s transition, patiently talked me through my fear and anguish that Julie would die on my birthday. (I know, it’s all about me, right?) Faith is in San Diego agonizing over her mother’s failing health in Cleveland. She’s headed back this weekend, and she says it feels like her heart is just going to explode. But after talking me off the ledge of hysteria, Faith insisted that I call her whenever I need to talk.

How sweet is THAT?

And today, I was sitting in the hospital chapel hyperventilating and dry-heaving sobs when I decided I needed to talk to my friend Veronica. Veronica is an editor on sabbatical in Chicago, with an almost three-year old angel baby girl named August, a hard-headed Sagittarius with a grin that could melt butter, and a husband, and all the life stuff that goes along with those things. In fact, today Veronica and August were heading to the zoo with Veronica’s cousin Sydney and Sydney’s daughter, for their regularly scheduled play date.

While I gasped and spluttered into the phone, Veronica’s soothing voice calmed me down. She was solid as a rock, and said all the right things. She even handed the phone to her cousin Sydney, who practices meditation and got me to calm down long enough to stay centered on my breathing. Then Veronica told me to remember that I should not be afraid to let that soul wrenching grief out, because that was the only way I’d be able to move through this experience.

Again with the sweet, already!

But the sweetest thing I’ve seen today, besides my sister’s smooth, round face and bright, unfocused eyes, is the e-mail I got from my friend Joyce in North Carolina, or “North Cackalacky” as she calls it. Joyce has a Carolina accent so strong you expect Andy Griffith stroll up whenever you’re talking to her. I met her in the summer of 1994, when she was interning at the Detroit Free Press. Thirteen 13 years later, I’m a godmother to her fabulously cute and brilliant 6-year-old boy, Ty.

Joyce knows the past four years have been absolute PURGATORY for me, and she’s given me unfailing emotional support, even when I’ve been so self-absorbed I didn’t stay in touch. She tracks me down, and keeps tracking me down even when I don’t answer her calls. She sends Ty’s drawings, and his latest school pictures. Whenever I’m in Raleigh, I’m treated like family in her beautiful home.

Here’s what a crappy friend I’ve been to Joyce….she spent the past few years struggling to have a baby brother or sister for Ty, and finally gave birth to a beautiful, big-eyed cherub named Talia in September of 2006. Whom I’ve only seen in pictures. I’ve somehow managed to always have an excuse about why I couldn’t get down to Raleigh. That stinks.

Joyce sent me an e-mail today full of love and prayers and support. And she called me “superiorly strong.” Somehow the term feels right. I’ve earned a PhD in grief survival, and Julie was my strength coach throughout. She’s still fighting just as hard as she can.

And she’s doing it rather superiorly, if I do say so myself. She’s spent most of today sleeping, and I really hope she’s been having sweet dreams.