The Gift of Needing

Susquehanna Valley, PA
On our Way to the Poconos

The best gift you can ever give to a friend is to say, “Please come, I need you.” I am only now just learning the truth of this in practice, although I was once the giver of this gift without being particularly aware of it.

When my son Jonathan died, I was devastated. Beyond that. There aren’t words to express how his sudden passing affected me. I was helpless. So grief-struck, my entire body ached. My arms, suddenly empty of his beautiful presence, actually hurt. I forgot to arrange for his burial. I forgot to put a notice in the paper. I forgot to tell my friends. I didn’t eat for six days. I had to be prompted to exist, it seemed.
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And yet, here was my brother and John’s brother, both driving some 70 miles at breakneck speed just to be with us when we went to the funeral home. Here was my sister, staying in a motel, for god’s sake, just to be close if I needed her. Here were my friends, answering the phone, cooking meals, keeping lists, making arrangements, sitting quietly with me, while their own families made due without mom and dad at home. I needed every one of them and I was in no condition to even ask. But I never said no.

At the graveside, I invited everyone to come back to the house, as is the tradition. Then I realized I had made no plans, bought no food, hadn’t cleaned, didn’t know if we had liquor or soda, or for that matter, even water. And yet, when we got home, there was a feast. The table groaned with the casseroles, meat platters, breads, drinks and desserts. A sweet acquaintance, the father of one of Jon's friends, brought huge trays of pasta and meats and god only knows what all from his restaurant. Another friend stayed away from the funeral to keep an eye on our house, knowing that sometimes people are robbed when they are at a funeral. How kind of him.

The police escorted us to and from the church, stopping the entire town’s commerce for us and for our son, the same kid who had made their lives more difficult just a few years earlier with his teenage hijinks. And yet, they were there when we needed them.

Now, some 16 years later, I still carry the memory of everyone's generosity and their selfless gifts of themselves when I needed it most. But I never realized how much of a gift I had given them. I say this with all humility, but it is true. Today I had a friend tell me, “Please come, I need you.” The situation is dire, and they will hear today whether there is hope or whether they should prepare for the end. It will mean that we may be delayed another day, but what is a day when a life’s course is being decided. If we can go to them and hold them in their hour of need, is that not a gift of great measure?

I’m going to stop and buy a twelve-pack of a great new beer we’ve discovered, get it icy cold, and drink it with them. We’ll drink to life, either way. I won’t know until we get there, and the news may be more than I want to deal with, but I’ll do it because they have more to handle than we do, and if we can help them shoulder this burden, that’s a mitzvah, as they say in Yiddish. A good thing. A gift that gives back, filling the heart with love, and the knowledge that someone needed you, and you were able to be there for them.