Why Can’t We Bequeath Our Friends When We Die?

My dear friend Harold recently passed away. A lovely guy whose friends rallied to his side in his time of need. I was amazed. Harold was in the hospital for weeks and never alone. Friends circled like carebears. And as I watched the love, I came to realize the importance of longterm roots in a community. Friendships that span decades with people who truly love you. You see, Harold was born and raised in Detroit, and unlike the generations that followed, many of his core friends had remained anchored to the city. Their children had grown up with Uncle Harold.

Blood is Thicker than Water

Not always. And in Harold’s case, I’d say the opposite was true. Yes, he had a family that loved him, but they had long ago left the area. The real family had morphed from the offspring of these longterm friendships. Young people in whom Harold had invested time and love. The infants that he’d once held in his arms came to sit by his bedside to hold his hand. The commitments were real. The connections unbroken by time or distance.

Standing Still

There’s a lot to be said for staying in one place. It certainly provides a greater stability to cement relationships. And as I watched all these Detroit friends, I wondered how they’d managed to remain Detroiters. I’d long ago succumbed to the siren call of San Francisco and then on to Phoenix. Years spent pursuing other friends, other dreams, while many of my Detroit friends too had left mostly to settle in southern California. I’d come to believe that you may have friends for a season and friends for a reason and that there was always an opportunity to make new friends. I hadn’t thought about life’s emergencies. The events that knock us to our knees. The time when we really need those special connections.

The Intersect

In my debut novel, I wrote about Daisy, a septuagenarian, who suddenly finds herself alone during a healthcare crisis. As I stood in Harold’s hospital room, I wondered if Daisy was more about me than I had dared to admit to myself. Was I afraid that one day I  might be at the mercy of strangers, no family and friends to support me? In the novel, Daisy gets lucky. There are caring and wonderful people who step up to rescue her. Perhaps that’s my truest wish. A wish Harold never had to consider because Harold had already done the hard work to ensure he’d not be alone. He’d loved his friends unconditionally. His friends had become his family. 

We All Have Friends

It’s just too bad that along with money and worldly possessions, we can’t bequeath to others the amazing people in our lives. I’d have considered myself immensely lucky to have inherited any of the fine people who surrounded Harold in his last few weeks. He was blessed and I will dearly miss him, but until the end of my days, I will remember the crowd that gathered in his hospital room. For a bief moment, I was part of something amazing. Something rare and special. Adults gathered at the bedside of a dear friend as if he were part of their immediate family. For you see, he was.  He was the chosen family member.