By Anne W. Semmes
Sentinel Columnist
After a week in which I lost my dearest friend Linda, there is a phrase echoing in my mind: “It takes a village, it takes a village.” But the better word is community—it takes a community to support you in a time of grief.
When I found my friend unresponsive in her sleep that Saturday afternoon in a backcountry home hosting her visit from the West Coast (and soon to return to living in Greenwich) it was the caring Greenwich Police who stayed with me those hours as the medical examiner did her careful work, bringing only a preliminary “died of natural causes” diagnosis. The toxicology tests results are weeks away.
Needing the name of a funeral home as the brain wasn’t functioning, a call to a friend found her not far off and offering to come right away to be with me as the first act of the drama was unfolding. She then cancelled her dinner plans to feed and care for me.
The next morning at church there was a timely sermon on the subject of comforting the suffering. That beautiful Sunday afternoon there was that invite from the annual Cos Cob Dugout picnic at Greenwich Point that my now deceased friend had encouraged me to attend. Again I was warmly welcomed and fed by friends and members of this long standing veterans organization all of whom have had their share of sufferings and losses.
The days go by with friends and family calling, and one day I arrive home behind a delivery truck with a bouquet for me so grand I say to the driver, “It’s got to be from the President of the United States!” It’s from the minister of that church where I had shared my tragic news.
With my friend’s daughter living on the other side of the continent, I am asked to pick a burial place behind the church where she once belonged. It takes all my courage to determine her final resting place. The deed done, out of town friends formerly from Greenwich suddenly appear at the church, having tracked me down to give me a hug—when surprisingly that friend who came to my aid that tragic day happens by, and they are all getting to know each other.
I’m beginning to see a pattern. I am in the library to do some feature writing away from home when I run into a former neighbor who knew my dearest friend, who invites me to come by for a visit. Another friend not knowing my sorrow asks me to breakfast to proofread her newsletter for the Archaeological Associates of Greenwich. Archaeology is a passion, so this is a welcomed distraction.
When you have lived in a town for over 40 years, when you have reported on that town for over 30 of those years, you have taken root in your community. At a tough time like this, I am experiencing the fruits of that rootedness, and I am overwhelmed with gratitude.
With my praise of the power of the community to heal there comes a further directive I take to heart at this moment, as it was told to me not long ago by my departed friend Linda of how she saw my contribution as a reporter on my community: “Your business is rejoicing.”
You are right, dear Linda, and this community has given me so much to rejoice about.
