It’s been a while since Moise pulled up in our driveway in one of his buggies. I knew from the dogs barking it was him. I saw his favorite horse out the window.
I looked up and saw his face in the door, peering in.
I asked him to come in, and he and Barbara did. He pulled his boots off and sat down in the living room. He seemed a little nervous. I was.
I haven’t seen or spoken with him in a while.
At the beginning of our friendship, I wrote that any company between someone like me and Moise Miller was sure to be difficult and some angst.
I was right.
I didn’t learn until tonight that Moise has been hurting and unable to work for a few weeks now.
Next week, I’m driving him to and from the hospital to take care of his problem and rest for a few weeks afterward.
As I wrote, I backed off Moise and his family a couple of months ago. We had some conflicts that were absolutely inevitable and very real.
I just felt it was good to take some time off.
So I stopped writing about Moise and the family. And I mostly stayed away. I’ve learned the importance of quiet and solitude, and patience.
No two friends can be more different from one another than Moise and me, yet there is a connection between us that is strong and enduring.
Maria says it’s because we are both strong-willed people who are determined to get our way. Moise and I both have the little kid alive and well inside of us. “Did you see me pulling the sled the other day during the ice storm?” he asked proudly.
Yes, I said, we did see it. I thought he must have been out of his mind to ride that sled on those bitterly cold and icy roads.
We have also accomplished much of what we hoped to achieve, even as we both struggle with entrenched and complex challenges.
There is respect and affection there, and I’ve missed him, even though my decision to back away was a good one and will probably be repeated over time.
I think the Amish taught me not to fight to step back.
Of course, Moise had some different ideas; he came sailing into the driveway with Barbara with his wife.
He came in, accepted a glass of water, took his boots off, and told me the story of his last weeks and months. He seemed pretty natural.
I sensed that he needed me, and isn’t that what friends are really about? To show up when needed?
I won’t speak of the details of our disconnection, nor can I discuss his health issues.
You know I have to write about this visit, I said, and he smiled. He asked me about the anesthesia he would be getting. “I have to behave afterward, don’t I?” No, I said, but it would be wise, at least for a while. I’m not going to be the one who tells him what he must do.
“I might come out of the hospital a little crazy,” he said.
“How would I know the difference?” I shot back, and we both laughed.
Moise and I are not alike, apart from the obvious – a friendship like ours seems impossible – yet a connection between us defies logic or explanation.
Moise seemed hurt that I hadn’t been up to see his new house; the family had begun moving in. He and Barbara both urged Maria and me to come by. I suppose it was my way of talking.
We will see the house tomorrow. What prompted his visit was his hope I would take him to and from the hospital where his surgery is taking place. Since he can’t ask for help, he presents the problem. I can take it or leave it.
Moise is a patriarch, where I live in a world of strong women, used to being honest and giving orders and receiving them. Moise lives in a different world, and switching to my world is not simple.
Before the surgery, he has to go and get a Covid-19 test. How ironic. He must have been in a lot of pain.
There are plenty of people around to drive him, but he wanted to be with someone he knows and is comfortable with. And he loves my car, which is quiet and smooth.
Moise and I keep our emotions hidden most of the time, but I know what it feels like to be dropped off for surgery. The person next to you matters. There was no way I wouldn’t be taking him.
The surgery is not life-threatening in any way, but surgery is surgery, especially for so active and self-determined a person.
He will need to be quiet and rest for a while. It will hurt. His doctors say six weeks, which means one or two to him. He asked if I could get him a few books to read, we talked about what kind.
They are on order. Maybe I’ll slip in one of mine.
I will be available to help him.
Today’s visit was an emotional visit and pure Moise – he was charmingly direct, and we will never again speak about the space that suddenly formed between us.
I thought we would reconnect one way or the other; it was just a matter of time. I also knew we would have to move on; there would be no heart-to-heart exchanges of truth, rationalizations, or apologies.
The space between us just closed up and melted away as he and Barbara sat in the living room, and he told me about the surgery.
He didn’t ask me to take him to the hospital, but I saw the look in his eyes when he told me about it.
Even Moise couldn’t mask that, and I know it well.
This period has been good for me, if painful at times.
I learned some things I needed to know and accepted the stuff I needed to take. I can’t speak for him. Like most writers, when I plunge into a subject, I do so deeply and not always with the sensitivities of my issues in mind.
I learned this as a street reporter, which I was appropriately ruthless at, and it has never left me.
It is not simple to be my friend, nor Moise’s.
I’m not going to write about the family as often as I did, reveal as much, or take as many pictures. Tomorrow, I will get gummy bears, potato chips, and tootsie roll pops up to the girls.
For Moise, nothing will change; that is not possible.
If we’re going to be friends, I told Moise, I’m not going to lie to you, I need to take some photos of your horses and your farm.
If that’s a problem, speak up. Sure, he said, of course, go ahead. Maria, who was present, said we both seemed at ease. She told us our talk felt very comfortable.
As I walked him to the carriage as he and Barbara left, we each admitted to missing the other, which for Moise, is about as close to revelation as one can get.
In Amish culture, the women are often responsible for patching things up and smoothing over difficulties. Barbara brought meat and sausage from the cows and pigs they had slaughtered last week, all wrapped up for us to put in the freezer. It felt like a peace offering.
I asked Moise if he wanted something to drink, and he asked if I had any Mountain Dew. “Are you kidding,” I said, “that stiff would kill me.” I brought him some water.
I am pleased to be driving him to and from his surgery. He did say he hoped for a smooth-riding car, which mine is. I’ll get some Mountain Dew for the ride home.
I can see he is in a lot of pain. His injury was almost inevitable given the Herculean lifting and hauling he has been doing every day for months and months.
In Moise’s world, suffering is both inevitable and desirable. It is also sacred, as Jesus suffered, and the love of Jesus is at the heart of the Amish faith.
But beneath all of us, him and me, are two human beings with all of the feelings and emotions that go with being human.
What happened was necessary. But we both want to keep our friendship.
I’m glad he asked for help if I can put it that way. The Amish never ask for help, but they accept it at times.
And sometimes, like the rest of us, they need it.
So glad you have come together again. It’s a beautiful and challenging friendship.
This post brought tears to my eyes. Jon, although you are English and Moise is Amish, the brotherhood you share is beyond religion. You are both teachers for the other. Your writing changed and so did your heart when you allowed a friendship to develop. Moise will be in good company as you give of yourself to be there for a friend in need.
I’m so proud of the two of you for being strong, caring, genuinely good men.
Good on ya!
Your frequent hostile remarks, instability and deteriorating relations with people and organizations really sounds like borderline personality disorder.
Somewhere you felt so much humiliation you lashed out.
Too bad you don’t have the esteem to heal yourself deeply.
Rudolph, you have some perceptive skills; you’ve been listening in on my truth. I used to get angry at messages like this and fight back. Mostly, I get sad when I think of intelligent people spending their time writing shitty notes to people they don’t know and will never meet. You needn’t tell me how troubled I was in the hope of adding more hurt.
I’ve done a lot of dumb things, but at least, I’ve never done that.
I know you are looking to be cruel, but you’ve also stumbled across some truth. You decry hostile remarks by sending some, a genuine conundrum, and a common one.
My disorder was more than borderline; it was a full-blown mental illness. You sound pretty bright; I’d suggest you learn not to confuse intellect with cruelty. I can assure you that you are doing me no harm and yourself no good.
(I just said to Maria at lunch, “it’s odd, I haven’t received a nasty message in weeks.” She laughed. “Just wait a few hours…” Wise person.
IMHO some of the most interesting stuff you’ve blogged is about Moise & family. So glad you’ve mending some fences.
I read everything you post & truly enjoy you.
You, sir, are a true friend.
Thanks Tina, that is a lovely compliment..
Friends don’t have to “be there” every minute… but when they need each other there’s never a question.
❤️❤️❤️
This is good news. You guys are good for each other in your special ways.
Jon…
So, it’s Friendship 2.0; looks a lot like version 1.0. It’s comforting to see this situation becoming settled.
Relationship rules and limits could be helpful. Moise lives within a stringent culture where rules, explicit or tacit, are the way. So going forward with a common understanding could make things easier.
Thoughts and prayers for a positive outcome.
Jon, do we ever stop learning in this life? I wonder. No, I don’t wonder, I know. Our experiences teach us, guide us, make us think, make us sad, unhappy, uneasy and sometimes mad. But the one thing you seem to have going for you is honesty. Admitting things that are not comfortable, talking about them, sharing them with others. Lessons shared. We can sometimes relate them back to our own. I’ve so enjoyed your stories about the Amish because I’ve learned from them, now I realize, they are from your own perspective but they’ve been enlightening. And what could be more soothing than looking at a horse and buggy by a farm house. It, to me, represents peace, a peace hard to find in this world of ours today.
Your visit sounded very grounding and inspiring in that honesty is there beneath whatever cultural and spiritual difference there may be. Friends are people who are there for you in good times and difficult times. And friendship is not a one-way street.
I trust we will see some more Amish lifestyle pictures, they are soothing to the soul in this world of busy cities, crime, hatred, protests blocking the bridge between the US and Canada, a bridge that is used not just for protesting but for health care workers to get to hospitals, people in need, moving back and forth. The Amish way of life brings a sense of order to what life is basically about, living close to the land, being independent of the need for material excesses, and yet, they too, face the basic reality of life. Surgery and anaesthetics. A body in need of recovery.
Thank you for sharing this honest friendship between neighbours, regardless of spiritual, religious beliefs and a different way of living life. We are all humans feeling feelings.
Sandy Proudfoot, in Canada.
Thanks Sandy, I have not stopped learning yet, I hope I never do..
So heart warming. Love thy neighbor comes to mind.
Moise & his family are very blessed to be your neighbors. ?
I’m happy to read you two are re-connecting. I’ve missed reading about the family and their doings and their wonderful accomplishments. I’ve also missed reading about your growing connections with your friends.
Probably they did not mellow you, but they did open up a wonderful side of you which rarely emerged in your books.
I don’t want to be mellowed, but they did open me up to many things..there’s a lot to be learned from them..
Jon, I don’t tell people how to live or what should be done, nor do I know the situation fully. But from a selfish point of view, I hope you continue writing about them. You were so fully engaged, it was often heart warming to see. But that’s just me. Thank you for letting us in your life and writing about such an enchanting story as the Millers.
Thanks Ed, I will from time to time, just not as much or as often. I don’t want to just focus on one thing..
I missed your stories about the Amish… yet understood your reasoning… happy to have a “glimpse” back, and happy for you to have a return of your friendship. Best wishes to your friend on his upcoming surgery.
Thanks Anne, I’ll be writing about them again, I’m sure, just not so much..
This was a beautiful story of friendship. Friends can be difficult at times, but showing respect to each other’s differences is important. I am glad you re-connected and were agreeable to helping Moise. Bless you.
Thanks Karen, bless you back..
Oh I so hope you “slip in” one or two of your books for Moise’s post surgical reading! They are all such excellent reading and the fact that you are friends will give him a different perspective as a reader than those who don’t know you personally. That said, Running to the Mountain and Second Chance Dog offer so many glimpses into who you were and who you are. From inner struggling to brave and fearless, naive but determined, strong and sweet, sensitive, creative, caring, and so so funny (naked with wizard hat in the snow story)! And so so much more! Writing this makes me want to read them again! I think I will! Thanks for such a warm sharing…missing each other speaks volumes…
This was a beautiful post, Jon….and I am so glad to hear that Moise and Barbara sought you out (in a sense). I believe your stepping back a bit was very perceptive and healing for you all. Not that anything needed to be *fixed*……..it just gives more perspective all around and allows the *comfort level* to re-set and balance itself again. I bet it lifted all of your hearts to have such a pleasant and warm time together again. And obviously you and Moise have great care and respect for one another. I received a greeting card not long ago with the saying *True friends are like stars…..you may not always see them, but you know they are there*. Perhaps a bit trite…..but I believe, true.
Susan M
Thanks Susan, I appreciate the note, nothing trite about it..
As a retired RN who worked with patients as they came from OR directly to us in surgical Recovery Room, and as someone who has had surgeries herself, I am apt to read between the lines. Please accept that fact, I cannot help my nurse brain. Please convey to Moise the importance of following postop physical restrictions so he isn’t the patient who “undoes” the good of surgical repair. Every “redo” patient usually sheepishly admits to “cheating”, to not following instructions (except of course, in case of an accident).
Thank you for being there for him. Everyone needs friends like that!
Thanks, Virginia, I appreciate the good words. I should say that giving Moise advice like that is literally pissing in the wind. He will do whatever he can do, but if he is in pain, he will do what he was told to do. He very much wants to be healthy so he can work hard every day of his life. But he doesn’t look to me for guidance like that, he looks up much higher.
Great news. Differences make our relationships stronger. I so enjoy your writing. Thanks for a window into your world.