I have a friend who is hurting. Not the blood and bandage type of hurt, but the worst type.
The type of hurt only she can share with herself. And whilst the rest of us stand around and offer our help, love and compassion, none of us can truly offer understanding. Because only she really understands the feeling of physical and emotional loss she has to endure. And while she appears fine on the outside, there is a very different situation going on inside.
So, I did the only two things I think I’m really good at…shopping and cooking. I bought her bags of groceries and cooked her food. And although I doubt she’ll be eating much herself for the next little while, I hope it gives her one less decision to make as she continues to carry on in the role of mother and wife whilst she quietly grieves.
I’m not a tactile person. And I often declare it openly to anyone not related who dares lean in the hope of a reciprocal warm snugly bear type hug, only to receive one of my awkward “I’m not really comfortable with this situation” type of, open mistimed, embrace.
My mum is the same. When her friends are unwell, or doing it tough, or they are celebrating a milestone, success or welcoming a new person into the family, my mum never hugs. She bakes, and she creates. There’s not a person in Belgrave Heights who is yet to receive a batch of mums yo-yos or a padded photo album as a gesture of care. There’s even been knitted booties for babies born to friends of mine that mum has never met.
It’s beautiful and it’s heartfelt and it’s genuine. It comes from the greatest love. Sure, it may not be a warm hug but it sure does warm the soul.