Times of Stress*

Times of great stress test friendships.  Some survive and some fail.  What is it that makes some rock solid and others crumble?

I’ve been thinking about this since my seven year old daughter had back surgery to correct a 70+ degree curvature.  During the five hour surgery she had two “growing rods” inserted along her spine to improve her posture and prevent her heart and left lung from being crushed.  Removing the bandages after a few days I could see that the incision ran the length of her spine.  It must have been 22 inches long.  It was terrifying. 

Amanda, age 7

Seeing it, I was suddenly scared to cuddle her, even though I’d been holding her since she came out of the recovery room, groggy and attached to half a dozen machines.  She was on oxygen, an IV, a pulse oxymeter and several things I couldn’t identify – and yet nothing could have kept me from her side.  Why was I so frightened when confronted with the reality of what she had just been through?

Facing reality is often the hardest part of what we go through as parents of children with special needs.  Last spring my 21 year old nephew was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s lymphoma during his senior year in college.  The diagnosis was devastating.  I called.  I sent cards and gifts.  I flew 1,000 miles to see him to make sure the boy I remember as a little blond baby was going to be alright.  When I got there all of his hair was shaved off, lost to chemotherapy.  Such close proximity to potential death scared me but, again, nothing could have kept me from his side.

Right or wrong, I find myself reassessing my friendships based on how people reacted to Amanda during her surgery last summer.  People we barely knew came to the hospital, to see us and her, bringing snacks and stuffed animals.  And, yet my closest friend never visited. 

Now the roles were reversed and my child was the one in the hospital.  I wondered, what could have kept my friend away?  Was it fear?  Was it the horrible reality of seeing a child in pain, something we all know should never, ever happen? Was it a lack of compassion?  Or did I simply misjudge the depth of our friendship? 

It was almost three weeks before she stopped by the house to check up on us.  I don’t know what I expected from her or my other friends.  Not knowing how the surgery would go or what the recovery would be like I didn’t know how to ask for help.  I had visions of my mother’s friends from my childhood, always appearing with a casserole or a Bundt cake when a crisis loomed. 

These days I judge people by how they treat my child.  They rise and fall like the tide in my estimation based solely on their reactions to Amanda.  Some of my friends have fallen away, unable or uncomfortable with being close to a child with special needs.  Others have fallen to the wayside due to what amounted to a false sense of compassion – for instance, the one who acted friendly because it impressed her Bible study group.  No one wants to wake up to the reality that someone considers them a charity case. 

I’ve decided that it’s not what someone does for you during a crisis that matters; it’s that they do something to let you know you’re not alone.  A few friends have stuck by us over the years, quietly in the background, solid; offering support and assistance without preaching or pity. 

They are the friend who showed up unannounced with my accumulated mail in one hand and three containers of homemade spaghetti sauce in the other; the friend who called every time she went to the grocery store to see if we needed bread or milk.  Never asking what they could do to help, simply finding their own way to help. They are true friends, not sand to shift with the tides but rocks that can’t be easily eroded.

*The original appeared on the Exceptional Parent website in 2007.  For my other articles, please go to http://www.eparent.com and Search Sarah Connell