It's all I can think to do

My friend Nancy is having the worst year ever. She's experiencing the kind of anguish that the rest of us can only imagine ... or dread.

Her dear old cat died. She works for a fitness chain, so the corona virus has had a predictably negative impact on her salary. Her 20-year-old daughter Ivy came down with the virus and was stranded in Minneapolis, which became the epicenter for violent unrest after the murder of George Floyd. It was a hard time to be a mom.

But there have been bright spots. She and her husband have gotten along beautifully working from home together during quarantine. They have really enjoyed one another's company and have thrived in their home, their home offices and their yard. Ivy has gotten better. Her older boy, Nick, was entering his second year of sobriety. He wanted to come home from Boston, where he's been living, but everyone -- his internist, his therapist -- warned against it.

And then Nick died suddenly. He felt heart palpitations and went to the ER where his heart just gave out. He had battled drugs and alcohol but was two years sober. Still, those two years of clean living were not enough to repair the decade of damage. He died alone and scared in Boston.

Nancy is overwhelmed. "Trying to put one foot in front of the other." She reached out to me. I want to be there for her, but I don't know how. I'm not Jewish. I've never been a mother. I can only imagine the pain she's in.

So I suggested we get a burger at the greasy spoon around the corner from her home. "Or maybe chicken," I texted. I know she loves their fried chicken. I said if we can't get a table inside, we'd take it to go and sit in the park. Something quiet, low key and kinda normal.

As normal as we can be during a pandemic and after her son died just days before his 24th birthday.

I'm seeing her Friday. I hope I don't screw this up.

Image courtesy of KEKO64 at FreeDigitalPhotos.net