The certainty of each other

Friendships hold us safely in their keep, writes Sara Lukinson

named their favourite dishes. I was ready to say the charred brussels sprouts and cucumber ices except that what I kept thinking about was not the food but how they had all rearranged their plans to see me. Everyone at ease, even in the pauses. Sharing good news and bad. Forks reaching across the table. Familial reminders: “Don’t eat that, it’s too spicy for you.” How for a few hours I did not remember to be on my best behaviour, I simply was.

I thanked everyone for coming and said how much it would mean to me to do it again.

I added: “I think you’re stuck with me.” A friend wrote back: “Stuck with you? Did you ever think you’re stuck with us?”

This renewed desire for deep attachments is a sign of wanting to rejoin life, isn’t it?

My friends, I am lucky to say, held on tightly even on the days I wanted to let go. When I could find no place for myself, they did. By what miracle that happens, I don’t know.

I’ll never stop thinking about my sister; missing her is a part of me now. At the same time, I’ve felt a growing warmth in the company of friends.

An act of kindness can bring me tears. A bit of teasing slides me off the chair. A favour asked, a fear confided. A future assumed. A late night call for help with a son’s homework. With each encounter a piece of story is laid down, like stones along a path.

These ties of friendship that hold us safely in their keep, that shape and share our memories, are among the hardest, most mysterious and most precious of all. Moment by moment, year by year we entrust ourselves to each other. In light of life’s fragility, friendship is our terra firma.