Friends come, friends go
We had moved from our shoe-box with a view in Mosman, to a roomy two bedder near the beach so we could accommodate my expanding waistline. We made the move with a couple of months to spare before the baby was due, and I got down to the business of nesting, which for me meant disinfecting every fucking thing in the house and constructing the cot, on my own.
I used to pass her on the landing outside her door, a thin, dark-haired, old lady, and deaf, according to the body corporate know-it-all, but it was her smile that melted my heart. I guessed she was probably not really lonely, because I used to see her quite often with a man, who I assumed was her son. But she was always there each time I went outside, just waiting for a bit of human contact. We would smile at each other and comment on the weather as people who don't know each other do. Once, out of the blue, she asked if I knew what Warfarin was, which I did, so I knew she had trouble with her heart. She told me that the 'hospital Dr' had put her on it and that she hated it. She also hated the hospital, refusing to stay there even when doctors thought she should.
We talked a lot more from then on and I began to know her a little bit, her name was Daphne. I learned that even drought-breaking rain made her feel blue and I knew she had a grandson she was extremely proud of. She used to catch the bus to the shops and I offered to drive her if she ever needed a lift anywhere. On sunny days she would often be on her balcony in the afternoon sun, she had a way of leaning on the railing that made her look like she was in the first half of her life rather then the final stages. It was lovely getting to know this woman, hearing her stories about the birth of her own children and other snippets from her life. It was comforting to talk to someone about childbirth, because I had started to freak out a little over it.
As the due date of my baby came and went, each day she would pop up to see if I had 'gone' yet. Finally, I did go and 32 hours later I had my little boy. He became my whole world, like most first time mothers, I was totally focused on this new little being that was dependent on me entirely for his survival. Weeks went by in a blur of breastfeeding, shitty nappies and heart-stealing cuteness. I saw Daphne only a couple of times in those whirlwind weeks, she came up to meet the boy one morning and I promised that I would have her up for lunch soon.
When the boy was about 6 weeks old, we went on a holiday up the coast for a couple of weeks. After we came back, it took me a few days to realise that I had not seen Daphne. I ran into her son outside her place one day not long after, and I asked if Daphne was away. I could tell immediately by the look on his face, that she certainly was away and that she would never be coming back. She had died in the hospital she hated so much and was buried in the first week that we were away.
It may have been a short friendship, but it was one I won't forget. Some people do that to you, don't they?
I used to pass her on the landing outside her door, a thin, dark-haired, old lady, and deaf, according to the body corporate know-it-all, but it was her smile that melted my heart. I guessed she was probably not really lonely, because I used to see her quite often with a man, who I assumed was her son. But she was always there each time I went outside, just waiting for a bit of human contact. We would smile at each other and comment on the weather as people who don't know each other do. Once, out of the blue, she asked if I knew what Warfarin was, which I did, so I knew she had trouble with her heart. She told me that the 'hospital Dr' had put her on it and that she hated it. She also hated the hospital, refusing to stay there even when doctors thought she should.
We talked a lot more from then on and I began to know her a little bit, her name was Daphne. I learned that even drought-breaking rain made her feel blue and I knew she had a grandson she was extremely proud of. She used to catch the bus to the shops and I offered to drive her if she ever needed a lift anywhere. On sunny days she would often be on her balcony in the afternoon sun, she had a way of leaning on the railing that made her look like she was in the first half of her life rather then the final stages. It was lovely getting to know this woman, hearing her stories about the birth of her own children and other snippets from her life. It was comforting to talk to someone about childbirth, because I had started to freak out a little over it.
As the due date of my baby came and went, each day she would pop up to see if I had 'gone' yet. Finally, I did go and 32 hours later I had my little boy. He became my whole world, like most first time mothers, I was totally focused on this new little being that was dependent on me entirely for his survival. Weeks went by in a blur of breastfeeding, shitty nappies and heart-stealing cuteness. I saw Daphne only a couple of times in those whirlwind weeks, she came up to meet the boy one morning and I promised that I would have her up for lunch soon.
When the boy was about 6 weeks old, we went on a holiday up the coast for a couple of weeks. After we came back, it took me a few days to realise that I had not seen Daphne. I ran into her son outside her place one day not long after, and I asked if Daphne was away. I could tell immediately by the look on his face, that she certainly was away and that she would never be coming back. She had died in the hospital she hated so much and was buried in the first week that we were away.
It may have been a short friendship, but it was one I won't forget. Some people do that to you, don't they?
posted by Callisto at
11/03/2006 11:17:00 PM
6 Comments:
it's great to see you back in action, cal.
when i was in germany, our apartment building bordered an old farm house, and our neighbor was quite wary of us americans. but it only took some broken german to break the ice and we had a nice time with our german friends. it's been more than 12 years, and they may have passed on for all i know, but we will always remember.
Thank you Rich and thanks for reading.
That's the thing, it's all about letting people in to our lives and appreciating diversity. How much we miss out on when we don't do this!
we ahve a slightly 'crazy' lady that comes into the place i work and i always worry if i haven't seen her for a few weeks..
I'd worry too.
Yep... some people insert themselves (most times unwittingly) in your lives like the page marker in an unfinished book. Sometimes they travel forward with you, sometimes their left behind in the chapter they orginated with.
Most of my memorable ones were attached to moments in uniform - or moments where the time called for the greatest need. Ain't it funny how life works that way?!
Cheers C... ;-)
I like that page marker comparison B :)
And yes, connections made under hard conditions can often be the deepest.
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