If a tree falls in a forest...

A friend of mine was depressed, and no one knew. How can this be? She was angry all the time and disgruntled with almost anything that happened (good or bad). Then she started not answering the door, or the phone - even though she was at home. These things we knew. We didn't know she was depressed, or what caused her to turn into someone we hardly recognized - and in my case, sometimes feared. Well, fear is a strong word, but I'm telling you, she could be pretty darn nasty at times. Now if I were a man (sorry guys), I know what I would most likely chalk this behavior up to...but no, too late in life for that. Too late for that "other" thing too.

After about two months of this behavior, with a few good spells in between to throw us off track, I finally started mentioning this friend's uncharacteristic behavior to our other friends...one by one, and on the sly. You see, this depressed (and angry) friend, is our "unofficial" leader, or rather our link - how we all know one another. She's the one who always listens to our problems and invariably gets to the "meat" of the matter. She is (or used to be) our wise, seemingly unflappable touchstone. It seemed like anarchy (betrayal) to even hint that our little Miss Sunshine, who was usually ready with the grin, laugh, joke...and more often than naught, the "right" answer to every question, might have a problem of her own. After all, how could she have a problem and not know? Easy. When you're in the middle of the game, it's hard to know the score. Which is appropriate, as this friend hates watching sports of any kind. Football anyone?

So one evening, when a serious issue arose with another friend, I took the opportunity (albeit rather hesitantly - and a bit fearfully) to tell this friend that I knew, and that all of our other friends knew, that she too was suffering. That she had a problem. I told her that we were all here for her and that we knew she was a little "broken" at the moment. I also told her that we wanted to help her, but no one knew how to help her just yet. So I said that we would all work it out together. I also shared that one of our friends felt that her "funk" was due to the death of her beloved cat last October. You see, after getting the calendar out (finally) and doing a little CSI (Vegas-style), we traced her angst back to a particularly sad day for this friend. Even though she had repeatedly assured us that she was fine back then, it's now obvious that she wasn't. But we believed her. Or rather we wanted to believe her, so we did.

So here I was, telling our angry, emotionally "bottled up" friend that we didn't believe her anymore. We sat in her car in front of my house. She was behind the wheel, and the engine was still running. I held my breath for her to tell me that she was fine, that nothing was wrong, and that she certainly didn't need our help, because after all, she was little Miss Sunshine - the life of every party, and my muse. I waited for her to toss me out, drive away, and never speak to me again. But a funny thing happened. Nothing. She took a deep breath and said nothing - at first. Then I saw her shoulders relax for the first time in weeks, and she looked at me and said, "Thank you, I was wondering what the hell was wrong with me...and if anyone had noticed." Score 10 for this friend and zero for us, her friends, for not speaking up sooner and telling her the score. She felt so much better just acknowledging the cause, and the catalyst of her anger. We discussed that she wasn't sleeping well or eating right, because of her "grief," and that this was exasperating the situation. Two easily corrected issues that she has already taken steps to improve. Almost immediately (the next day), I noticed a difference in my muse. The sun was shining once again. We laughed about how we were all afraid to call her...because we never knew when her evil twin, Dr. Jekyll's Mr. Hyde, was in residence. She talked about her frustration and anger at not being able to figure out her problem (and the cause) on her own. Having never gone through anything like this before, she was puzzled, surprised, and enlightened. Most of all, she was relieved. She told me about how angry it made her that she couldn't be the sunshine that we were used to...and that she felt we counted on. So she stayed away. Our social butterfly, gad-about town, locked herself in a self-imposed prison, because she couldn't force what had always come to her so naturally. I told her that sunshine or not, she just needed to be herself and come down and play only when she felt the desire. And that we would understand when she didn’t join in, or when she did and the sun wasn't shining as brightly as usual; but we weren't going to let her stay in lock-up just because she couldn't be the life of the party.

This friend is on the mend, but her situation reminds me that so often when strong people fall, they fall hard. The noise is deafening, with obvious and visible injuries for all to see - if we are willing to look. Why is it then that we tend not to notice...or even acknowledge that these strong people might need help? Why don't we go out on that limb more often? Or at least let these strong oak trees know that we think they might have a problem - and offer our assistance? Even if our assistance is only lending an ear, and providing a sounding board. Is it because these strong people push us away - or perhaps because we respect their privacy and their independence? Maybe we feel that they don't want our help. When, then, can we be sure of the right time to intercede - if ever? After all, is it really our business? Or are we just being "nosey parkers," like that irritating busybody neighbor, Gladys, from the 60's television classic Bewitched. Heaven forbid that we make a mountain out of a mole hill. How embarrassing to tread where we shouldn’t...perhaps when we should. How happy I am that I risked embarrassment...and "stepped up to the plate." Sorry, I just couldn’t resist another sports reference...because I know that my friends, including little Miss Sunshine, will laugh. And yes, I want them to laugh and laugh and laugh.

There's a saying that you can't see the forest for the trees. We have another friend who needs our help. In her case, we couldn't see the tree for the forest. But the other night I heard a noise, and recognized the sound of a falling tree. This beloved oak tree needs help - and I've already told her the score, according to my scorecard. I suppose I should recognize that I've gone out on that proverbial limb to "take sides." To weigh in and be her sounding board. I'm sorry that taking sides is necessary...and I'm sorry that it's called "taking sides." Just because we reach out to one person, doesn't mean that we necessarily condemn the other. It only means that we care, and that we know our strengths. That we reach out to the one who needs us (and our strengths) the most...the one that we can help the best. I believe you understand that I'm talking about the break-up of a marriage. While it is sad, it's also time...before further damage is done. I know my strengths, and I think I can help this fallen tree get back on her feet...and be strong. To once again stand tall and proud, to grow new roots, and establish herself anew in a friendly forest that welcomes her with open arms. I can't wait for the spring - to see all of her new branches, loaded down with healthy, intricate, and beautiful new leaves. And I’m eager to see her funny, bright little "sprout" flourish - as children are more resilient than we think.

How does that other saying go? If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear, does it really make a sound? Yes, yes and yes. All we have to do is listen.

Dedicated to my strong Brazilian oak tree...I am listening. Here's to the spring, to the thaw, and to new roots - new beginnings.

© 2006 Teresa G. Franta