A number of fellow travelers accompanied me through this past week. And I’m pretty sure—based on the therapeutic sheer pleasure of hanging out with them—I’m much healthier than when the week began.
There was my cancer-kicking, wilderness-hiking posse at our season opener: Six gentle miles along the Metolius River.
And my Walking for Wellness gang—also cancer-kicking—who I was seen in public with along the Deschutes River out past First Street Rapids Park.
And then there was my Monday evening knitting crew. Oh, and a friend I hadn’t seen in a few months, which meant a catch-up over coffee and Chai tea this week. Traveling companions, all.
Toward the end of the week, a friend and I led a walk along the river for some of the residents of a local women’s shelter, stopping at park benches in the bold April sunshine to allow time for journaling.
Another volunteer job is with the local hospice care team, and my most recent assignment was to sit with a patient at home while her caregiver ran errands.
Last but not least, I was part of the cheerleading squad for a friend who did a half marathon.
So many members of these squads and crews and posses were part of the impregnable fortress that surrounded Hubby and me through cancer. And into widowhood. I have no family in town, but these are courageous boisterous astonishing almost-kinfolk who would drop what they’re doing and come to my rescue.
Others are traveling a rather arduous road themselves: The women from the rescue mission, hospice patients and their caregivers, half marathoners. I want to drop what I’m doing and run toward them when needed.
Which brings us to a couple questions:
What does a good support team look like?
It looks an awful lot like the Walking-and-Coffee-Drinking-for-Wellness troupe. Like the wilderness hike-and-snowshoe team.
It looks like my girlfriend I hadn’t seen in a few months; like fellow book-lovers, and Bible study group members, and fellow gardening enthusiasts … or fellow cycling, cooking, photography, extreme sport, yarn or classic movie enthusiasts.
It looks like clan members and comrades with their encouragement, assistance, reinforcement; who comfort, cheer on, advocate for.
So, if I want to give back, what does being supportive look like?
It looks like offering respite care so a caregiver can have a break, or sitting with a cancer patient through a chemo infusion. It looks like listening well along a trail, or at a coffee shop.
It looks like hand-delivered meals.
It looks like being in service: Helping clean out garages, stacking firewood, replanting bird feeders so the guy dying of cancer can see the activity from his hospital bed in the living room.
Being supportive displays itself in 1,001 creative astonishing preposterous heart-thrumming ways.
This from the inside of a card: “In life, it’s not where you go; it’s who you travel with.”
How blessed were Hubby and I—and how blessed am I, as widow—to travel with some of the most exuberant fierce loyal people on the planet.
Which begs the question: Who are you making the journey with?