More context from the field ...

My near-lifelong friend Hazel, whom I met when we were classmates in middle school, lost her mother last year. Sabine, almost exactly my mother's age, was a fellow congregant at the church my mother attended intermittently on the island.

Hazel's family (Sabine, her husband Jacob, and four children) were part of a long line of island residents who had farmed a large acreage for many decades; they ran a beautiful farm stand which sold the best produce on the island, and employed quite a few college-age kids on the farm each summer. The farm was (and is still) impossibly scenic, nestled next to a brackish lagoon that rises and falls with the tides.

When my mother and I moved to the island, I was eleven years old. We'd just left New Jersey (for the summer, I thought, but it turned out to be a permanent move.) I was new to the school system as a 6th grader, which was pretty rough, but at least I knew some of the kids, because our family had visited the island each summer since before I was born. I'd also been involved with some of them through a children's theatre program I'd participated in, so that was a leg up when I was "the new kid."

Hazel and her family, the Naylors, were extremely kind to me. I spent many nights sleeping over, Hazel and I were involved in school activities and after-school clubs together, and we all went to the same church. After church, an old-fashioned fancy lunch was served at Hazel's grandmother's home in town, very near the church; we often attended. I have vivid memories of the water view, the grand piano, and the family's amazing full set of handbells, which we often put into use! It had been a bit of a revelation to me to see the interactions between Sabine and Jacob (an longtime married middle-aged couple) when I lived under their family's roof during the summer I was 17, when my mother was working in North Carolina; nearly all my other friends came from families of divorce. But between taking me in that summer and just generally being kind and inclusive towards me, there's no question that the Naylor family really went to the mat for me.

My mother and I moved to New Hampshire at the beginning of my freshman year in high school, but I stayed in touch with Hazel throughout high school, college, and thereafter. I returned to the island every summer until college. She was a bridesmaid at my wedding to my first husband. She's been a steadfast and insightful friend, always.

Now living in New York City with her husband, Hazel works in the film industry. I went to visit her last year, just before she lost her mother. In her 80s by then, Sabine was already quite ill. Hazel, her husband Max, and I sat down to a wonderful home-cooked meal in their Brooklyn apartment and enjoyed a great evening of catching up; although we follow each other on Facebook and have a general idea what had been going on for each other, it had been a few years since we'd actually seen each other.

Amid all of the talk about career, travel, and family, the topic of Sabine came up. I was really sorry to hear that she'd been so ill; she had always been extremely vital, fit, and sharp, keeping active through her work on the farm and enjoying a wide-ranging reading habit as well. Because my mother's social circle on the island has shrunk to a tiny fraction of what it once was, I felt obligated to ask: had Sabine continued to be in touch with my mother, either on a friendship basis or even in a more obligatory way, through the church?

Hazel paused a bit before answering. She looked at Max, almost as if she wanted to protect him from what she was about to say, before turning back to me.

"Sabine wrote your mother off quite awhile ago. It was just too hard for her."

Though the words were plain and hard-hitting, it all made perfect sense. After several decades of completely unequal friendship, generous gestures of hospitality and kindness, and being "the rock" while my mother was a loose cannon, Sabine had finally had enough. The few times I'd seen her recently on the island, she'd been far too polite to let on; her understated good manners wouldn't allow for such a lapse in decorum. But nonetheless, even Sabine, known to all of her friends as one of the most competent, friendly, generous, resourceful women of her generation, eventually gave up on my mother -- who by rights should have been one of her best friends, given their church affiliation, children of similar ages, educational background, etc.

I smiled wryly at my dear friend, and told her that her mom had always been so very kind and generous to me. I made sure that she knew that my mother had lost just about all of her social circle, and that Sabine was probably one of the last to throw in the towel, if I had to guess. Sabine died the next month (February 2015).

Thank you, Sabine. Thank you, Naylor family. You were a big facet of the presence I felt around me in my early teens -- the reassuring idea that family life can be calm and supportive and nearly completely lacking in unpleasant factors like head games, the nursing of grudges, and screaming. It was particularly needed during those middle school years, plagued as they were by my parents' divorce, living with my mother without the aid of my brothers' presence, the pressures of a move and a school change, and ... well, middle school.

Thank you, Hazel, for our friendship of nearly 40 years. Here's to 40 more, I hope.