The Nature of Friendship

Hi Friends,

A very sad event happened this week that got me thinking about the nature of friendship. I was trolling around the net and came across a web page for a community theatre to which I used to belong - the magnificent Elmwood Playhouse in Nyack, NY. I joined their page, and the first post I read was information about a memorial service for an old friend who had passed away - two weeks ago. I scrolled down and saw previous posts which told of our friend going into the hospital, then falling into a decline. Then there was a call to everyone to get to the hospital if they wanted to say their final goodbyes. Following that post was information about the wake and funeral, and then a memorial service the next week. And I had missed it all.

I sat at my computer for I don't know how long; staring at the words on the screen, burying my head in my hands, and muttering over and over again, "I don't believe this, I don't believe this." I couldn't believe that, after 25 years of knowing this incredible man, I could have not known of his passing. We had so many friends in common; folks who still worked at this wonderful theatre, friends who had helped him out in so many ways. Friends who never called or emailed to let me know that he was failing. I sent an email to many of these friends, telling them that I felt sad and hurt that no one had contacted me. Two people wrote back; one had also only just learned of the news after the fact, and the other had only just learned - from my email. I wrote back to everyone and said that it seemed that everyone assumed that everyone else knew, or would find out. I suggested we get together for a toast to our departed friend. And I told them that, although we were not in the best of touch, I loved them, and hoped that something like this would not happen again.

A couple of days have passed since this sad incident. I spoke to my shrink about it, and she commiserated. I spoke to some other friends, and they commiserated. Then I realized today that I haven't cried. Not one tear. I loved this man. He was a force of nature; designing Broadway-worthy sets for forty years. We worked for the same company in NYC for a while and would occasionally commute together. I respected his work, drank in his knowledge of theatre -- feared his wrath. But mostly, I just loved him. His was like a big, scary Rottweiler with the heart of a Golden Retriever. And he was always there. I could walk into that little theatre anytime of the day or night and be pretty darned sure that he'd either be there, or was expected, or had just left. He designed the set for one of my first Equity shows at the Helen Hayes Theatre (now Riverspace). In later years, my hubby (Jim, in case you don't know him) began to work in theatre education. Whenever he did a show, our friend designed it. Between Jim and the kind and talented Jack Gremli, our friend had at least two or three jobs every year. And yet, as I thought about all these memories, I didn't cry. I began to wonder why.

Maybe I'm still in a state of shock. Maybe if I'd been able to see my friend in the hospital, or have gone to the funeral, or the memorial service... maybe if I'd picked up the damn phone and called him once in a while. He wasn't the type to ask for favors or help, and he didn't pick up the phone much himself to call others. But I knew that. So what stopped me? Did I think I would be bothering him? Did I think it would be too much trouble for him to hobble to the phone on his feet as he began to lose toes to diabetes? Was I afraid the conversation would be awkward: "So, how many toes have you got left?" Or did I just assume that, if anything really bad happened, I'd just hear? Well, I heard, alright. And, even though I still can't believe it, it must be true - I read it on Facebook.

So while I can wallow in righteous indignation that no one called me, I have to come to terms with the fact that I didn't call my friend. Oh sure, I chatted from time to time about this set design or that prop that I needed to borrow. But when he really needed his friends, I wasn't there. I can only hope that he knew that I cared. I did tell him. And he'll always be in my heart. But don't be surprised if you get a phone call from me out of the blue - just to say hello. I'll be trying to be a better friend. The way I wish I had been to our beloved Robert Sven Olson.

I'm crying now.