When we first found out that Logan was sick, a lot of people I'd considered to be good friends disappeared on me. I don't judge them for that decision now. It was painful to feel so alone; to feel abandoned by people I thought I could count on. But I acknowledge that it's hard to know what to do; it's impossible to know how to help or what to say unless you've been me or someone very much like me. So in a sense, I can understand why simply walking away --vanishing-- was an easy out. And in some minds, an acceptable one.
We replaced a lot of those missing links with people we met at CHO. We spent hour after hour with those people, and some of them I considered friends. I learned about their families, their pasts, their hopes and dreams, and in some cases, their biggest fears. I laughed with some of them, held back shared tears with others. I felt like we mattered, like Logan was an important person. Like I was an important person. Because let me tell you something: There's nothing like being hit with a serious illness to make you feel like you don't matter at all.
And then we lost Logan and nonexistence set in once again. Just as we lost friends after Logan was diagnosed --the people who'd always been there who suddenly didn't know how to relate to us-- we lost the new friends we'd made after he went home to Heaven. He suddenly didn't require care anyone and... poof. They were gone, almost all of them. I'm guessing we'll never hear from most of them again. I'm guessing that we'll be forgotten soon, as new patients move in and others move on. We'll fade into the obscurity that I'd wanted so desperately to avoid. I can understand it, in a way. It must be hard to think of the kids who don't make it. It must be easier --no, necessary-- to forget about them and focus on the next one in line. The one who might beat his personal odds and grow up. I guess that's how you survive that kind of job. I don't know because I could never do it myself.
I used to joke with the hospital staff that they were my social life. I don't think they realized that I was serious. Now, as a result, I mourn the loss of not only my son, but of the friends I thought I'd made there.
I guess it was naive of me to assume that they'd continue to be part of our lives into the future. Every life goes through phases; friends come and go and come again. I'm grateful for those who stuck with me throughout the duration of Logan's illness. I'm grateful for those who've come back to support me now. But I'm sad over the people who aren't my friends anymore.
I suppose this is all rather silly, but it's what I feel. So there it is. Have a good Monday.