The Boardwalk of Friendship

Grief is hard on friendships, but it doesn't have to be. Sometimes, all it takes is a little honesty between friends. If we gently and lovingly explain what we need from the relationship during our time of grief, and what we are willing to do in return, we can turn even a common friendship into something special. -Margaret Brownley

During the past 10 and ½ months since Shayla passed away, I have felt the nurturing of friends, who are more like family. For each of them, there has been a window view of a mother mourning the loss of her child. Throughout this process, I have also ‘lost’ friends, who I feel have acquired an aren't-you-over-it-yet? outlook. Sometimes I have felt as if I have to defend my right to grief outbursts or my need for my space. Other times I can appear clingy or needy. The unrelenting heartache has left me with a newfound feeling of survivor’s guilt and anger towards a road long overdue for safety measures. For me, it is as if I have a tree of sorrow rooted in pain that is unending. To be my friend requires a delicate balance of care and patience. I may appear strong and all right, when the reality is I am wearing one of my masks for that day; while inside me the shadows of loss dance internally.

While I have a solid cluster of friends- who each will probably never know how much colour they have brought to my world of crippled darkness- there is one special friend that has literally stood beside me along the way. It is someone who I have known since Grade five.

Our friendship covers a span of over thirty years and has been tested a few times that I have lost count.

There are days that I wish we never had to share…like the one that saw me telephone my best friend Lori to tell her Shayla had died. Her two children had grown up like an additional pair of siblings to my daughter. Lori’s son and daughter were a part of our lives, in the school photos we shared, birthdays and Shayla’s 2011 University Graduation from the Human Service Worker Program. We had celebrated many joyous occasions and this one was on the other side of the spectrum…the loss of a child.

As the words left my thin drawn lips, I wanted to scream into the phone all my devastation.

Before long, Lori made the trip from her home in Salmon Arm to where I was staying at in McKinley Landing. I tried to express the hole in my heart; to try and come up with a different way to cry, but all I oozed was numbness.

Lori ‘moved in’ temporarily setting up an air mattress on the floor. While she slept, I gazed at the same spot on the wall and heard her deep breathing that gave me comfort. When I stood at the crash site, weak in the knees, it was Lori who was lifting me up. At Shayla’s Celebration of Life, the first person I affixed on was her. She stayed with me while I went through the motions.

For her Birthday this year, Lori and her daughter Melissa -or Missy, as I fondly know her by-embarked on a road trip to bring me back from Kamloops. We shared in a celebration that I was surprised I even wanted to be a part of. Yet as I bought a cake, presents for them both, it gave me a purpose. To see their joy made me feel good. Later, we went to the Pier at White Rock, BC as Missy was to release one of Shayla’s pebbles. As she threw it into the air, over the ocean, a seagull swooped down and caught the pebble in its beak. I frantically chased it until it finally dropped the pebble into the sea. Turning around, I saw the two of them bursting into laughter and I realized what a scene it must have been to watch me run after a seagull, flaying my arms.

This summer, both Lori and Missy helped me out with an event in memory of Shayla. It was a stressful time, full of much emotion for me. Missy shared with me that she wanted to get a tattoo as a tribute to her older “sister,” Shayla. I was moved beyond tears at this permanent mark of respect for my daughter. When I first saw the touching image, it made me realize my greatest loss was also this young girl’s to share in.

In September, I travelled back to Kelowna, to the area where I needed to be once again.

Shayla may have been gone, but she was not removed from my daily world of living.

I returned to McKinley Landing and on the second day of visiting, my best friend showed up with a pan of homemade lasagne, her last can of smoked salmon and a box of crackers… all comfort food for me. Miles always seem to separate us, yet when we are in each other’s company I feel like a teenager again. We took a trip into the city and lost track of the moment as we shopped. As I walked down an aisle, I spotted a stuffed animal from our era. It was Lambchop and when you squeezed the belly, it asked you a variety of over the top cutesy questions. Soon, Lori found me and we were in the throes of giggles. It felt good to laugh over something ridiculous. I walked out of the store with Lambchop because Lori could see how much it made me smile. We made another few stops in stores and had it not been for the items I was purchasing, I felt somewhat “normal.” In my shopping bag were an Angel, a framed sympathy card, and two bright foam letters: S.D. Lori would later remark that as she saw the lettering attached to the temporary roadside memorial, the words jumped out at her not only as Shayla Driver, but also SLOW DOWN!

The moments shared with Lori and spent in her company since Shayla’s passing have been instrumental in me being able to be myself with her.

During this time of me mourning, I have been blessed by many who instead of walking away, embraced me… even the shattered bits that I am now made up of. The elements of friendship get tested to the extreme when you lose a child. I have gone into a protective mode of not being as trusting as I once was. My brokenness; turning into another level of separation as I had to walk away from unhealthy relationships. My energy needs to be for myself now, and not chasing after those who should be the one’s making the effort. I do not take those for granted who have been in my corner. Although I could provide a list of friends who have gone the extra mile in caring and support; Lori is someone who I find myself standing with at all times, hand in hand. She is with me…at the place where Shayla’s car was submerged for forty five minutes under thick, frozen waters.  She lets the tears flow, and then supports me when I get angry at how in only seven weeks McKinley Landing Road will be fixed. Lori understands how I feel so lost inside, wondering endlessly WHY DID NO ONE ELSE IN COUNCIL STAND UP FOR CHANGES…YEARS AGO?? My best friend consoles me when I plead to an invisible force…If Only… She never stops believing in me and even when it has caused her anguish, Lori is the gift of family that I need.

Tonight, I came across a “Letter to a Friend” that sums up perfectly how I feel regarding my friendships, in general.

Dear Friend,

Please be patient with me; I need to grieve in my own way and in my own time.

Please don't take away my grief or try to fix my pain. The best thing you can do is listen to me and let me cry on your shoulder. Don't be afraid to cry with me. Your tears will tell me how much you care.

Please forgive me if I seem insensitive to your problems. I feel depleted and drained, like an empty vessel, with nothing left to give.

Please let me express my feelings and talk about my memories. Feel free to share your own stories of my loved one with me. I need to hear them.

Please understand why I must turn a deaf ear to criticism or tired clichés…

-Margaret Brownley