Two women, one friendship

The Boston Herald

Beverly Beckham

I have come to know Julia slowly, a young woman whose husband died of cystic fibrosis a few months before their son Jeffrey was born. After his death, the priest at our parish spoke of Julia's faith and courage. But she was a stranger then, a story heard from a pulpit.

I had no idea she was my mother-in-law’s next door neighbor.

It was after that day in church that my mother-in-law began mentioning Julia, but I didn’t connect the dots. I didn’t realize that the priest’s Julia and my mother-in-law’s Julia were one and the same. Because Julia, then, was just a name. I’d phone my mother-in-law to see if she needed anything at the store and she’d say, "Julia said she'd pick up a few things for me." Or I’d ask her what she had done that day and she’d say, “Julia stopped by.” Julia, her young neighbor. Isn’t that nice, I thought.

I assumed that Julia was a kind girl who had spare time and was simply being nice to a sweet, old lady.

But she didn't have spare time. She was a new widow with an infant. She worked as a physical therapist at the Massachusetts Hospital School. She had a big house, a bigger yard, a brother who lived with her and a family from New Jersey, one of whom was always visiting. Her life was full. And busy.

And yet there she was at my mother-in-law's door, routinely dropping by with flowers, stopping in just to say "Hi," calling to say, "We're having hamburgers on the grill. I just put one on for you."

I don’t remember at what point we met because it was as if we, too, had always been friends. That’s how Julia is. She lives with her arms out, ready to embrace, to steady, to enfold. “What can I do for you?” This is her mantra.

I watched my mother-in-law and Julia growing closer. “Julia helped me get my Christmas decorations from the garage today.”

“You should see the picture Jeffrey drew for me.”.

“Aunt Rosie, (Julia's aunt who was visiting from New Jersey) made me a jar of spaghetti sauce and meatballs. It’s delicious!”

And then Julia began dating Paul. And there was a new name in my mother-in-law's stories.

"Is he nice?" I asked.

"Julia says he's very nice."

"Is it serious?"

"I don't know. I haven't asked."

She never did ask. She listened and watched and began smiling more because, she told me, Julia was smiling more.

Paul was from Maine so now there were additional trips north to take to visit his family, along with the trips south to New Jersey to visit her family, and Jeffrey’s paternal grandparents. Now Julia had even less time. Who would blame her if the visits next door to an elderly neighbor suddenly stopped? Who would be surprised if the backyard barbecues became just family affairs?

But they never did.

Julia and Paul got married last week on my mother-in-law’s 84th birthday, which fell serendipitously this year on a Saturday. Fate’s nod to a special bond? I like to think so.

Julia bought my mother-in-law a pink corsage to wear on her pink dress. An usher walked her down the aisle and sat her with family, right next to Aunt Rosie. Julia wore my mother-in-law’s cherished pearl necklace. In such small-big ways, people feel special and loved.

"Love isn't love 'til you give it away," is what I kept thinking all during the ceremony and in the hours after, at the reception. That's Julia's secret. She gives love away. She attends to people. She cares about them. She openly and genuinely loves them - no strings attached.

And they, enriched by this love, full of this love, can’t help but give it back.