The other night I received a call about 8:15 from a good friend. When I asked him how he was doing, he told me, “Not very good.” I could tell he was crying and asked what was wrong.
He said his daughter had overdosed on drugs and that he had found her dead earlier in the day.
I was lost for words, other than to say, “I am so sorry.” We visited briefly, he told me what he thought had happened and I asked him did he need to me to come over to his house.
He said I didn’t need to come, he was at his mother’s home which is near his, and there were several people there with him. I tried to assure him that I surely would come if needed.
He wanted to get together the next day and I told him of course. I let him know if I hadn’t from him by a certain time the next day, I would be calling him.
I let him know I would be going to early church on Sunday which I did. After coming out of church that morning and getting in my car,Icheckedmyphoneand there was a message from one of his friends using Joe’s phonesaying I needed tocometohismom’shouse.
I asked her if was urgent, and she indicated just as soon I could.
Within less than hour I arrived at the house. As I entered, his mom said, “It’s bad, he’s having a really hard time.” I could only imagine.
As I entered the kitchen, he hugged me and he couldn’t stop crying, and he hung on to me for a little bit. Finally, we went into the living room and sat down.
I just listened for awhile. It wasn’t for me to ask a lot of questions, rather I needed to let him talk.
He offered that his daughter, in her early 20s, had overdosed on Fentanyl.
The one thing I couldn’t do was tell him I understand or understood. Because no matter what I might say, uttering those two words would be wrong.
There is no way I could really understand. I hadn’t experienced that. As I offered sympathetic words, they just seemed to fall a little short. I couldn’t imagine what he was feeling or his pain.
Throughout the week, he asked me to accompany him and his family to the funeral home on two occasions. On Friday evening there was a short service in honor of his daughter at the church he and I attend.
On Saturday was the funeral and of course I attended that as well.
Each day of that week he and I made sure we visited to see how he was doing and if there was anything he needed.
Sunday I called him and wished him Happy Birthday and we visited awhile.
The coming days, weeks and months ahead probably will be somewhat difficult for him. But as a friend I’ve assured him he can count and lean on me as needed. Because that’s what friends do.