Friend Ship

1.

I've made a few friends

in this lifetime, but not many.

Friendships, especially in the past

100 years or so

have disappointed me,

seared me

with agony

when I realized

the Friend thought

the Ship we had embarked upon

together

was meant to be captained

only by them

I had one friend

in the last 15 years

who I rather liked:

I met her in Ankara, and

early in our relationship

she asked me:

"So what is it that you want

from me?"

a question that startled me at first,

and I know she thought me

quaint

when I replied

"a friend."

I liked her frankness

but our friendship

did not last.  I

think she thought

that since I only needed a friend,

I would just always be waiting there

for her.

I didn't consciously end

the Friend Ship;

it just didn't sail

again, after I

left for other shores.

2.

I like it best

when my lover is my friend -

I find this most

economical.

However,

this can place many demands

on any man

who feels a woman is intended

for one purpose only.

I've learned this,

bitterly,

time and again,
to the point where,
recently,
I'd come to distrust
both
friendship
and 
love.

3.

In the last six months, I met

a new friend.

The temporary nature of our relationship

was apparent from the outset:

when I met her,

she was being treated for

terminal cancer.

She - her name is Linda -

startled me again

and again

with her honesty; hers was the kind

of honesty and faith

that I value and like to reciprocate.

She and I,

I believe,

agreed on what

it meant to be

a friend.

She welcomed me

into her life immediately;

she became a teacher and guide

to me

and I to her.

Little did I know that our friendship

would be cemented

in the act of her death.

She died early on Wednesday,

June 30.  Three weeks earlier

I had gone to a healing service

with her and her husband,

I knowing - perhaps more than they -

that this was most likely

a service to strengthen them

in their final weeks together.

She was very sick.

A week or so after that,

I learned her condition had worsened.

I called her home and learned

she was in hospice.

This is a very nice way Americans have

these days

of saying someone is

close to death.

Her husband told me she would

like to see me, but if,

for any reason,

I felt I couldn't visit

they would understand.

I could not not.

She was the first person I have met in decades

with whom I had felt such a kindred

bond.

On Monday, June 28,

I sat by her side.  I was humbled

by the love

I witnessed between

her, her husband, and her sons.

I wanted to say something

witty,

but all I could muster was

"thank you."

She seemed to want to reply

with wit,

and I saw her eyes scan

her mind for words as she

gasped for air.

And then she smiled,

and said:

"you're welcome."

She said her head was heavy;

her mouth was dry

from breathing.

She wanted water.

Her husband hurried to her

side, but she refused

him; she wanted me

to help.

I lifted her head, heavy

to her but light to me;

I held the glass; her fingers

leveled the straw.

She drank.

She was very thirsty.

Her husband fussed; she

waved his worry away.

I was there to help;

for that short drink

I was the friend she wanted

and needed most.

I rested her head back

on the pillow.

She wanted her head higher, and let

her husband help her then.

I watched them communicate

with silent gazes and whispers;

it felt so intimate,

but she insisted I come closer.

I sat with her for awhile,

just holding her hand and listening

to each 

inhale

exhale

inhale

exhale

inhale

exhale

with her husband too

who wept and listened,

hoping,

fearing

what would follow

inhale

exhale

I left her that way, and two

days later learned

of her death.

4.

She was a minister

in the Sufi Order.

Her memorial service celebrated

her many acts

of selflessness.

I sat and listened,

remembering

her head in my hand,

her gratitude

to me,

and mine

to her.

She is my latest great friend.

5.

My Lovely Linda

She taught me

to have faith
in love again.