Absent friends, not close enough to touch

I have a friend. Her name is Ruth.

Ruth has been a gossip buddy for many years – since before Daughter was born (though Daughter would probably insist that nothing existed before she was born because she is, after all, the Princess of the Known Galaxy).

Ruth has been funny and serious, she has teased me she has supported me. She has held my metaphorical hand and, at times, kicked my metaphorical bum.

Ruth edited and proof-read my first novel, and what a pair of hellish tasks they both must have been.

Ruth has helped shape my writing, in long and short format.

A few weeks ago, over the Easter weekend, Ruth was unexpectedly admitted to hospital and underwent immediate, and very serious, surgery.

Surgery that only someone like Ali Booker, or Ruth, would be able to fully understand.

It was a shock to learn of it, but it must have been a thousand times more shocking for Ruth, to be the subject of an emergency admission, to have had such a terribly interventionist operation when, up until that time, there had been no inkling… No idea that something was so wrong.

I have never met Ruth.

I feel as if I know her so well, we have shared secrets that only two people who have never met can share.

I kind of love her. Quite a lot.

I have thought of Ruth, and her illness and the trauma she’s been through, every day.

I can’t comprehend it fully.

But that doesn’t stop me from thinking.

And wishing.

And hoping.

I know she has her family and they will help and support and, more importantly, will be there for her.

I can’t be there for her.

But that doesn’t stop me thinking.

And wishing.

And hoping.

Please get well Ruth.