...it feels weird not to write about it, and weird to try to figure what to write about it. Apologies if this isn't remarkably coherent.
Friendships over time and distance are such a strange thing. For the second time in a month, someone I still love, but have only the most tenuous of intermittent cross-country communications with, has lost a parent (um, to clarify that grammar, that's two different old friends who've lost parents -- all three of us were close during the same time period). And when one is sort of mentally flailing and feeling useless* it's a sucky time to be reminded that as close as we were once upon a time, and as much as I still care about them, there's so much I just don't know anymore, or maybe just don't remember, about how to be there for that person in any sort of meaningful way.
And the distance really sucks. Phone calls, beyond "I'm here, and I care" seem really pointless -- in my experience help with the practical aspects of dealing with the death, or just presence and hugs and such are usually a lot more useful than "hey, want to spend some time on the phone with an out-of-touch friend playing with the searing poker in your heart?" Besides, some people have a way with words in those kinds of situations -- I'm not one of those people. Practical stuff has always been my primary way of showing caring, and the only form that doesn't leave me tripping over my own feet in awkwardness.
* as I said to J "No wonder everyone makes casseroles when someone dies. It's something to do that feels productive and useful, at least on some trivial mundane level."
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