There is the friend who sent me relaxation in the form of a spa gift card.

There is the parent who offered to get a group of people together to take my son on the field trip he wasn’t allowed to attend, and who also wanted to throw in a Reds game. Sharks, beer, and peanuts? Count me in!

There are my in-laws who provided me much-needed respite. I even took a bubble bath.

There are dozens of people who emailed, texted, hugged and listened. There are so many friends praying and hoping for us right now. Thank you.

I haven’t felt this good about humanity since the infamous meat-wagon, freezer incident of 2009.

And, maybe that’s what this is all about. Maybe every now and then we need to be reminded that there is more good than bad; that for every awful thing you read or experience, there are hundreds of good deeds going unnoticed or unmentioned.

If I’m going to share the bad, then you’ll have to bear with me as I share the good, too. That spa gift card, though? I’m keeping that all to myself.

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My dad had a friend named Squirrel.

Well, he wasn’t really a friend, but rather an acquaintance from the bar my dad went to after work sometimes. Squirrel was a slurring, drunk man, though probably not as much in real life as he is in my memory. In the far reaches of my mind he is the wobbly pharmacist from It’s a Wonderful Life, stumbling and spitting his words in my grandma’s kitchen one cold Christmas Eve.

I know for a fact that he stammered, because one of my cousins compared his speech to the lyrics of the Chaka Khan song playing every hour on the pop-radio station that year. Not the part where she croons, “I feeeeel for you,” but the part where Grandmaster Melle Mel raps, “Chaka, Chaka, Chaka Khan…” Squirrel could have probably been an 80’s star if he had only had the right management.

I was a young teenager when this odd, little man stood on the white, tiled floor next to the butcher block where the Christmas ham was perched. It was the same place where my grandma spent hours rolling out dough and cutting noodles by hand. She had no dishwasher, no air conditioning and no counter space, yet she never failed to have supper on the table. I have of all of those things and still don’t always make an evening meal.

But, it was never about what she didn’t have. What she did have, and what that house held, was immeasurable kindness and love. Squirrel, weaving inside the circle that my cousins and I had created around him, was there that Christmas Eve because he likely didn’t have anywhere else to go. My dad made sure that he wouldn’t be alone. Though, at the time, I saw this drunk man as uproarious entertainment, I see him now as a symbol of everything I’m proud of.

Sure, we probably handed him egg nog and rum when he didn’t really need it, but we also gave him warmth, food, and a rapt audience for his grand tales. We gave him a room to dry his boots, a place to laugh and feel part of a family, if only for an evening.

I can’t tell you what I got for Christmas that year. I don’t remember how many presents were under the tree or if my stocking was full. What I got was a fond memory and the sense that I need to give something back. I’m not talking about money, because I don’t have a lot of that. What I really want to do with my life is give people a place to dry their figurative boots.

But, first I have to get this Chaka Khan song out of my head.

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Roughly 11 years ago, my friend Bean and I found each other. The details of our early friendship are long and sordid and involve way more than anyone, other than the two of us, would find amusing. Just know that we had known each other for years, yet barely acknowledged one another, then one night, in the light of a full moon, we bonded over a single Zeppelin tune.

Okay, I don’t know if that moon thing is true, but the way we connected…my mind sees it that way And, the Zeppelin thing? Totally happened.

I was at a point in my life, with a young daughter, where I was looking for friends whom I truly respected and I felt like that about her. So, a few months later, I sat down to discuss being friends with her. I ASKED her to be my best friend like it was a business transaction. Weird, right? Only, it wasn’t. Nothing has ever been weird with us.

We used to talk. A lot. Every day, actually. We were pregnant for our sons at the same time…due just three weeks apart. And, when mine was born seven weeks early, she listened as I cried over what was happening to him. She heard me as I wept over not knowing what the future would bring. She comforted me, and when she couldn’t comfort me, she would just quietly BE THERE.

Her son was born nine weeks later with two collapsed lungs. Was I there for her? Not like she was for me. I had a nine week old, very sick baby. Did she understand? Of course she did. She has always understood.

She is always there for me. I love her a lot. Through every bit of the ups and downs of having a special-needs, medically-fragile child, she has been a rock.

Almost three weeks ago, her son came down with…something. Fever, vomiting, cramps and other symptoms that made it seem, at first, to be a run-of-the-mill virus. But, it didn’t go away. He kept getting worse.

A few nights ago, he was admitted to the hospital and we have come to find out that it’s not just a virus. This boy who was a typical, active, healthy nine year old just a few weeks ago, is now fighting a battle that no one saw coming. Just like that, my best friend has joined me in the ranks of being the parent of a child with medical problems.

And, now it’s my turn to be what she has always been. It’s my turn to hold her hand, and listen, and comfort her and quietly BE THERE.

I kind of hate her for giving me such big shoes to fill.

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When my husband and I got married, we were just starting out career-wise. It had only been two years since he graduated from college (and three years since I dropped out).

We needed…everything. Within one year of our wedding, we bought a washer, dryer, car, dog…oh, and a house that needed to be completely renovated and furnished. And, just shy of our one year anniversary, I got pregnant. Hindsight, people. At the very least, get a home that’s move-in ready.

When I say that our house needed to be renovated, I’m not exaggerating when I say we had to gut it. With the exception of the some wood floors and some of the walls, everything has been replaced. Wiring, plumbing, windows and the roof (twice), just to name a few things. The fence, patio, new kitchen and three new bathrooms seem so minor.

To say the least, we didn’t plan well. Life went and threw a wrench into things when our daughter was born more than 10 weeks early. I quit my well-paying job and became the mom and caregiver of a fragile, 2 lb. 9 oz. baby on a heart monitor. But, hey! At least my cabinets were pretty!

Guess what? Preemie stuff is expensive, yo’. And, three years later, we had another one! With congenital heart disease! For roughly 13 years, I have been able to open my wallet and see dust settling where the dollar bills should be.

This means that nothing gets replaced. Ever. This means that I have been driving the same car for 14 years and sleeping on the same mattress that my sister used when she had my first nephew. He is getting ready to turn 26. I know, gross, right? What’s a girl to do?

Well, a girl can have really awesome friends, that’s what.

See, my friend Casey found out that I have been taking an Ambien and putting myself to bed on our couch for quite some time now. Thirty year old beds don’t have a lot of support and, apparently, my back wants that. My back is so needy.

When Casey heard about my predicament, she sent me a message and said, “I am going to make it my mission to get you a bed.”

Then she did.

She entered a photo contest and won me a new, Serta bed. I love her.

Not just any bed, either. It’s beautiful, and soft, and supportive and it has an adjustable base so that I can sleep sitting up and my husband can lie down, because that’s what old people do! As soon as it gets here, you will all have to suffer through pictures of me showing you this. I apologize in advance.

Recently, we had to break down and get a new washer. My children are also needy. They’re always wanting clean underwear, and stuff.

My husband and a friend lugged the old machine to the curb and within minutes a man had pulled up in a truck and asked for help loading it. Minutes! I had no time to prepare. I had to watch as my washer bounced down the street in the back of a pick-up as I thought of all of the poop, pee, vomit, Thanksgiving turkey drippings, baby food and every other thing that machine had helped me clean.

I have to admit, I shed a tear.

But, when the mattress goes away for good. I’m totally going to throw a slumber party.

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