I had the sad experience of seeing two friends die within 24 hours of each other about twelve years ago. Upon hearing of the second death, I had an anxiety attack - complete with the nausea, heart palpitations, and sweats. I now have my own understanding of what an anxiety attack feels like. I wouldn't wish it on anyone.

The two friends were Vince and Elmer.

I came to know Vince in a very unusual way. I was elected to serve as an overseer for some Mennonite Churches on the Navajo Reservation in the late 1980s. My task was to make at least one trip a year to the rez and visit the churches. Since the trip to the churches (which are near Chinle, AZ) takes nearly 6 hours, I wanted a companion to go with me. I asked Vince to travel with me as he also had some responsibilities related to these churches. Spending 12 hours with a person in a car creates many opportunities for conversation. The most interesting item for me was that Vince actually lived on the rez in the 70's while he taught at the Navajo Community College at Tsaile. Vince was quite adept at understanding the Navajo ways. I also found out that Vince had a keen sense of what was good Navajo jewelery and art. Since Vince had lived on the reservation, he also knew all the backroads. While I knew that Vince had been a chemistry professor all of his life (first at Hesston College, Hesston, KS and later at Navajo Community College), I only learned at his memorial service that his dream as a young college student was to be a doctor. His college roommate who revealed this information did become a doctor. He explained that Vince was not encouraged to become a doctor by one of the professors. This friend said that Vince touched more people's lives by becoming a college professor than he would have as a doctor. Besides being a loyal friend, Vince had a wonderful sense of humor; I can still hear his distinctive chuckle in my ears. I still think of Vince when I think of the Reservation or meet a person from the Dine (Navajo) Nation.

I met Elmer after he and his wife moved to Arizona after the collapse of their business in the late 1980s. Elmer and his wife became interested in the burgening homeless problem on the streets of Phoenix. First, Elmer organized drives to collect blankets to take to the homeless who were sleeping on the streets. It didn't take Elmer long to realize that this was not a solution to the problem. It was addressing a symptom not the root causes of homelessness: stable housing, jobs, recovery. Elmer went back to his church, Sunnyslope Mennonite Church, and asked them if he could begin a program. The first year Elmer and many volunteers turned part of the church into a shelter. They called their shelter, House of Refuge. It was the first pocket shelter (a shelter taking 12 or less people) in the city of Phoenix. In its first year he shelter housed women and men. Elmer quickly realized mixing genders didn't work, so he limited the program to men.

After I resigned my position as pastor of a local church in 1992, I went to work with Elmer for a year at the House of Refuge. One of the projects I worked on with another staff person was the acquisition of a portion of the military housing at Williams Air Force Base for housing homeless families. With a lot of hard work and utilizing the services of a legal firm in Washington, DC, we successfully started House of Refuge East - a program that continues to this day. This position lead me to work with the homeless for almost 3 years as a street chaplain in downtown Phoenix. Of all the pocket shelters founded in 1990, only the House of Refuge is still serving as a refuge for men seeking to leave homelessness. Today it houses about 40 men in various stages of transition off the streets. To this day, I continue to have a heart for those who are seeking to leave homelessness.

When I received the sudden news of these two men - two men who touched my life in such different ways - I was in shock! I value how my life is richer today because our paths crossed.

2007 (c) Ronald Friesen

This evening we will celebrate a memorial of Ross's life.

If Ross had lived until today, we would be celebrating his 52nd Birthday, instead we are celebrating a life that was.

I met Ross through the recovery program of Alcoholics Anonymous. (I am not 'blowing his anonymity' as he openly talked to everyone who would listen to him about his recovery.) I did refer to him in earlier blogs as 'Joe'.

Ross was born in Rhode Island, served in the US Marines during the Vietnam Era, and spent most of his adult life battling the demons brought by Vietnam. More days than not, Ross was a victor over those demons especially when he discovered a living faith in Jesus the Christ.

Ross, who suffered many health issues in his life, spent the last four years of his life in a nursing home. He had multiple replaced joints. He suffered respitory and pulmonary struggles. His years of alcohol and drug abuse had taken their toll on his liver. Years of hard physical labor had left him with a back that wouldn't cooperate.

Ross was more than his illnesses and demons.

Ross was a lover of life.

He loved his sports teams: Pittsburgh Steelers, Chicago Bulls and the New York Yankees. He would tell anyone who would listen that Michael jordan was the greatest basketball player to ever live. His room was decorated with the pennants of those teams and with numerous Michael Jordan pictures. He was a fan of Dale Earnhardt, the number 8 car of NASCAR.

Besides sports, Ross loved pizza, diet coke and gyros. Ross loved to eat!

Ross was a lover of people.

Ross cherished his friendship with those who knew him. He loved Ashley his nurse at the care center. He loved his friend, Pam, who he shared a trailor with for a number of years. He would send notes to June, my wife, titled, 'To my buddy'. One of Ross's Rhode Island friends was an attorney named Ron. Ross would buy Ron funny cards and send them to him. One day Ross found an Arizona beer can with a cactus on it. He wrapped it up and sent it to Ron. After Ross died, I called Ron to tell him the sad news. He told me he still had that beer can sitting on his desk - unopened - a reminder of his friend Ross. Ron and Ross were so close Ron put an obituary into the local Warwick paper for Ross. Ross would ask about various people from the church - recalling them and asking about their situations.

As a part of his recovery and love for people, Ross would start and chair AA meetings in the community. When Ross moved into the care center, Ross started a meeting there. This meeting ran for almost 2 years. Ross believed that his gift of sobriety should be shared with others.

Ross was a lover of God.

Ross credited his recovery from alcohol and drugs to God. Ross had a sign in his room, "Jesus is my Higher Power". Ross was not ashamed of his faith in Jesus. Ross would buy tracts by the hundreds and place them around town - in phone booths, on city buses, in restaurants. Ross read his Bible on a regular basis. For years, he would ask me what I was reading in the Bible and he would share what he was reading. He loved to call me and tell me about those funny names in the Old Testament. Frequently, when I would visit him at the care center, he would give me some money. 'Now this is for Sister June for the cards she bought me, this is for the soda she is going to buy and this is for God". When Ross forgot to give me the money, he would mail it in - and put a note in the envelope saying that this was his tithe. (You have to realize that Ross's monthly allotment from his Social Security check was about $80 a month - so giving a tithe was a sacrifice.)

I spent virtually every weekend (either Saturday or Sunday) with Ross for the past 4 years while he lived at the care center. June stopped by almost weekly to take items there or to get laundry. Ross was a regular part of my life. Ross was my friend.

I miss Ross a lot. However, I am certain that Ross is at peace with his God.

PS. I read the above as a memorial for Ross at the service held on what would have been his 52nd birthday, August 19, 2007.

2007 (c) Ronald Friesen

One of the first friends I made when I moved to Phoenix in the early 1980s was Charlie. I met Charlie through the Little League my sons joined. Charlie was one of the coaches and his son, Jason, was on the team with my son, Shawn.

Charlie, a single father, was raising Jason and cutting hair to support himself. To make ends meet, Charlie and Jason lived with Charlie's mom, Ida and Ida's brother. When I found out that Charlie was a barber, I and my sons became some of his loyal customers. Charlie and I coached together for a number of years.

As we became closer, Charlie and I had breakfast on a weekly basis at a Jewish deli in central Phoenix. Charlie was a Vietnam era vet who fell in love with his High School sweetheart, had a son, got divorced and was trying to be a good dad. Charlie grew tired to trying to survive by cutting hair; he went to work for a mutual friend of ours, John. John and his company who owned many commercial properties hired Charlie to be their maintenance man.

One Halloween evening our phone rang, it was Charlie: " Jason was just hit by a truck in a crosswalk. He is in intensive care at St. Joseph's.". Our family raced to the hospital to provide support to Charlie. Jason was left with a right arm that was so severely injured that he would never again write with it. Jason, a right-hander, had to learn to do everything with his left hand.

About two and a half years after the accident, my telephone rang again. It was John. He broke the news: Charlie died this morning of a massive heart attack!

Here was my first friend in Phoenix - dead - leaving a young son to grow up without his parents. My friend, who I had breakfast with every week for almost 15 years, dead!

Charlie drove a small, beige Toyota pickup. For years when I saw a small, beige Toyota pickup, I was sure it was Charlie.

I miss Charlie to this day. In fact, I was telling one of my co-workers today about Charlie. It is twenty years this year that I got that phone call from John breaking me the news of Charlie's death.

(By the way, today Jason is an artist who does triathalons. There is a movie in the works about Jason's life. He says he wants to inspire others with his accomplishments even with only one arm. I wonder who will play Charlie in the movie?)

As many of you may know I have experienced the loss of more friends than family members.

My first friend loss wasn't a death but a loss common to many children. I didn't have many friends when I attended my 6 grade-two room school as a child. Being a stable community we started and finished with the same students each year. However, in the fourth grade a new student appeared. His name was Larry. I don't remember a lot about Larry but I do remember that we became good friends. I spent the entire summer waiting with expectation for school to begin in the fall and to see Larry again. I was heartbroken when we started school and discovered Larry had moved away. To this day, I have an ache in my heart for Larry.

Shortly I arrived in Phoenix in 1981, I met Ron. Ron was a friend and an employee of one of the church members where I was pastor. We soon became friends and spent time together. Ron's life story could fill a book but the short version goes like this: born with a congenital heart defect with a life expectancy of 18 years, orphaned and abandoned at birth, adopted by an alcoholic man and his seriously mentally ill wife at age four, adoptive mother spent many months in a mental hospital during Ron's childhood, at 13 Ron's adoptive mother dies, at age 15 Ron's adoptive dad dies on Christmas day, Ron decides that he doesn't have long to live so he takes up fast cars, fast women, alcohol and drugs, Ron meets a beautiful woman, marries, and they have a beautiful daughter, Ron ends up divorced, at age 22 Mayo hospital looks at Ron's heart condition and declares him untreatable, Ron gets into a rebound marriage, lasts less then one year, divorces, health continues to declines, Ron finds faith in Jesus, health declines, I meet Ron, health is declining, Ron decides to go to college and graduates with a BA in psychology, health continues to decline, Ron moves into a bedroom at the church house, we nurse him with soup and love, Dr. Jack Coupland in Tucson decides to do rare heart procedure which has never been performed on a person Ron's age (his condition should have killed him before he was 18), Ron gets into the medical record book, finds a young woman 20 years his junior, falls in love, marries her (I officiate at wedding), walks daughter down the aisle (I did the wedding), spoils three grandchildren, health fails and Ron dies an eartly death so he can be resurrected into a heavenly life. Ron and I shared three common realities: a common faith in following Jesus, old cars and Mexican food. We had lunch together almost weekly for about 15 years. I miss Ron very much. To this day, I think about him almost everyday. Each day I drive the 1972 El Camino Ron found for me about 7 years ago. I miss his laugh, his smile, his faith.

I will share more Friend- loss in the coming weeks.

Some days I hate my dad; other days I love him - and he was my abuser - I think am going crazy!

I feel that if I love him, I am being disloyal to my feelings of anger!

I feel that if I am angry at him, I am being disloyal to my feelings of love!

People who escape trauma are often caught in guilt and shame.

The guilt is rooted in ambivilent attachment.

Ambivilent attachment works like this: survivors of abuse often feel that they are being disloyal to or betraying their love for the abuser if they are angry at him or her. On the other hand, they feel they are being disloyal to their own feelings of anger and pain if they embrace their love for the abuser.

Caught in this ambivilence they feel they are going to go crazy.

But it is actually normal and healthy to be in this middle space. It is possible to hold anger and love in the heart at the same time and not feel you are betraying either feeling. True healing occurs when a person can hold both feelings in their being at the same time.

When I work with people who are struggling with ambivilent attachment, I encourage them to take time and write letters or thoughts to their abuser from one side and then a week later from the other side. Some counselors suggest that when you write these letters you write at least two letters to each side - using your right hand one time and your left hand the other time. For those who are more artistically inclined, you may want to make a painting or sculpture of your feelings and thoughts about your abuser.

Embracing fully the feelings of anger and love/hate and anger - allows survivors to begin to understand that they can hold these very opposite feelings in their hearts and minds at the same time.

It is often good to find a counselor who understands the principle of ambivilent attachment to help a survivor of abuse get through the process.