Blind leading the blind
Saturday, November 5, 2022
I don’t have many friends. I certainly don’t have many close friends. Friends that I have are from high school (so they’re all in other states) or are former or current co-workers. Then there’s Amanda.
Amanda and I were forced together by our daughters. Our daughters met while playing softball in Little League. At the time, they didn’t go to the same school and only saw each other during the season. Their last year in Minor’s, they were both chosen for All Stars. That team was amazing. They took the division and made it one game from states. That last round of games were up near the Eastern border of Oregon and California, in a high desert town called Alturas, CA. During that tournament, I made acquaintances with Amanda and her husband, and our girls started to become friends. When they were both chosen for a newly formed Travel Ball team, Amanda and I learned to lean on each other. We weren’t like the other softball parents. We both preferred to sit behind the plate - her daughter is a pitcher and mine is her catcher. Her husband and I would trade off on keeping the score book. My daughter started going to Amanda’s daughter’s school and they became BFFs. Eventually, Amanda became true friend, not just the outcast softball moms.
Amanda’s mom lived with them. She wasn’t in the best health and unfortunately passed shortly after school ended. It’s been really hard on her, obviously. Even though we live very close to each other, and switch off on car pool duties, we haven’t really been able to have a mom day in a few months. Partly due to my depression, and partly due to her own. I could tell from her messages and FB posts, she was in hiding. I’ve been in hiding, I know what it’s like. So last night, I texted her and told her that we were having coffee and going to the craft store this morning. I would go into her house and drag her out if I had to.
I’m glad I did. It was good for both of us. We stopped through Starbucks, then headed to the craft store. We walked around, talked, and commiserated on both of our states of depression. It was just the morning, as she had plans to attend an orchestra concert with her daughter in the evening, and I had to work on my freelance project. But it was a good morning. We need to do it more often. Maybe I’ll kidnap her again next Saturday.
When I got home, I poured. I went for red, black, and white. If I were to analyze it, which is what I’m doing, I would say it’s for the pain of Amanda’s loss, both of our depression, and the chaos that is being a mom of teenage girls now-a-days.
We all need therapy.