When I was 21 I went to China for a year. It was way harder than I expected, and I was pretty homesick for most of it, even though I loved it in other ways. My mother wrote me long letters about what she had been doing, and on one of them my dad drew a picture of a cormarant on a rock. He used to drive me to school every day, and we would go past a reservoir – there was one rock we called ‘bird rock’ and we used it to measure how full the reservoir was each day. He’d drawn this little picture and written ‘bird rock is almost covered’. That little drawing meant more to me than all my mother’s words – I knew he thought of me every day, and that we were always a part of each other’s lives, even miles away.

More recently, I’d say the support of my friends, real and virtual, in the year since my dad died. In particular I am thinking of one friend who I have met all of twice in real life. I bought a house recently and in the cooling off period I kind of freaked out – it was big and grown up and I didn’t know if I could handle everything that it meant by myself. She called me in the middle of a busy day with two kids at home and a conference call from work waiting, to give me some support.

And today I came back from painting the house with a bunch of my friends and I realised that I’m NOT alone. I might not have a partner, but as much as anyone can ever count on people to be there for them, I have those people. I am so lucky to have such genuine, strong connection and such lovely, helpful, caring people in my life.

SNIFF!

Oddly enough, an ex-boyfriend, D, who, while in the relationship, came off as inconsiderate, doing things like completely forgetting Valentine’s Day, has turned out to be the best and most reliable friend I’ve ever had.

After the first time we split up (mutual, but at my instigation), a previous ex – a narcissist and master manipulator I’d finally gotten away from after 6 years – started stalking me. D came over to my place when I was too scared to go outside or be there alone, and ended up letting me stay at his house for a couple weeks until everything blew over. He even took a day off work to drive me halfway across the state to a rinky-dink little festival, just to get out of town and get my mind off the stalker. We got back together after this, then both quickly realized it wasn’t going to work.

Even after the second breakup, and even after I briefly married someone shortly thereafter (which hurt D, even though we were long over by then), he has still been there for me ever since. We get together for lunch regularly, he got me tickets to a big formal shindig hosted by his employer then drove me and my friend home when we were too drunk to drive, and always offers to drive me to the airport (an hour+ trip each way for him), even for 6 am flights! I’m so lucky to have him in my life as a friend, even if we’re not meant to be more than that.

The first few months in Israel were really difficult, so to have someone do something like that was AMAZING.

When we were very young, though, we had a lot of trouble connecting. I am hyper-emotional, very sensitive, a crier and a screamer. In short, I was – especially in my teens – the polar opposite of my brother. One day I came home from school after breaking up with my first “real” boyfriend. I cried a lot, lay on the couch and blubbered all afternoon. At some point I looked up from the pillow I was clutching to see my brother (about ten at the time) standing over me. “I brought you a popsicle,” he mumbled. “That always makes me feel better.” He handed it to me and walked silently away.

I have never forgotten that popsicle. My little brother, a kid I’d always known to be isolated and awkward, had reached out to me in the best way he knew how. It didn’t really matter if I wanted the popsicle or not (I did!). What mattered was that he’d shown me he was sorry I was hurting, that he’d expended the effort to think of something that might make me feel better.

We still use the popsicle as an inside joke. Anytime I’m feeling down, he always says, “Well, you could go get a popsicle.”

Mine is very simple. My partner has been the majority of my emotional support through graduate school, constantly reminding me that my success in school does not make me who I am. Over the summer, I had to take an exam that would determine if I could graduate. Moments before I was to walk in to my advisor’s office to find out the results I got a message from my partner that said “good or bad, the results do not define you.”

That sort of thing means more to me than any holiday prescribed gesture.

I thought of another one I wanted to share (MOAR LUV!): it was an email from one of our readers about a particular post. I don’t want to risk breaking confidences with too many details, but this reader sent us an email saying that she had shared a post with a family member who was in a pretty awful situation at her college.

With support from our reader, the family member stepped forward to tell a difficult truth that resulted in others coming forward with similarly awful situations, and a horrible person got at least some of what he deserved.

Now, I didn’t *make* anyone do anything, and our reader didn’t need to say anything, but the fact that she let me know that maybe I sorta kinda helped prompt some brave, personal/systemic activism that actually resulted in a bit of justice? I’m going to carry that with me forever.

Yep, crying again.

Mine starts off rocky: I unfortunately managed to dig myself into about 2,000 in debt over one of the stupidest mistakes ever. I went to see my BF in Germany and when I landed I had the nasty surprise that he was seeing someone else. I came back home broken hearted, in debt and with a payment due that I couldn’t afford. I fell behind several months worth and was effectively ruining my credit but I was so ashamed of my poor choices I didn’t tell anyone and I had never been in debt so I didn’t know what to do.

After the third payment had past and I had an outstanding balance the credit card company called my old home which is still my parents current residence. Dad was very calm, and posted two payments and took me
off the red list on the collectors credit card.

He called me and told me what happened. He didn’t even flip out or ask me how I managed to do what I did. I broke down in my gratitude and told him what had happened and was very surprised when I recieved sympathy and budgeting advice. He told me mom was furious about it and refused to speak to me which was why he was the one talking and not her. I got off the phone feeling better that I could handle
the amount I owed but sad that I had managed to disappoint my family again.

A week later I recieved a box in the mail with a very nice and very expensive sweater, some candy, and a small hand written note from my mother letting me know that no matter what or how old or stupid I get I am always their child and even when they can’t fathom how I manage to get myself into trouble they are very pleased with the honor that they have at helping me and always being there. I turned into a nice little mush ball and had to compose myself before I could call to thank her.