By Barbara L. Morgenstern, Esq. Memoir Writing LLC Founder

What do you do with yourself when your best friend of 40-some years up and dies on you, felled by a blood clot storm after celebrating Fourth of July?

My instinct was to try to find comfort in routine. So I decided to hand wash my bras in the kitchen sink. The ritual involved pouring lightly scented lingerie soap (“Forever New”) from its girlie bottle into cold running water. For a long soak overnight.

Except I was so exhausted by grief, so shook by the prospect of suddenly serving as executrix of my dear friend’s messy estate, I got distracted by something and forgot to turn off the water. And went to bed.

In the morning, I awoke to a flooded apartment. In my domestic tsunami, my neighbor Fred’s apartment also was hit, as we share a common wall.

Bless his heart, Fred cast nary an exasperated glance at me after surveying the damage to his wood parquet floor, so understanding was this widower of 81.

Instead, my thoughtful neighbor brought me two large bath towels for my personal use, bright yellow and turquoise, as all of mine were drying on the back patio and on the lawn, evidence of my efforts to contain the flood.

Enter my new best friend, summoned by maintenance — Art from Total Restoration Solutions, LLC. A 30-year veteran of fixing such damage, Art was so damn cheerful, so non-judgmental, he soothed my savage soul. I thought of a metaphor: my home is crying the tears that I, so far, have not shed. Shock has numbed me.

Art encouraged me with a positive spin on the accident — my flood involved all clean sink water. This comment gave me insight into his life’s work and what constituted a good day in Art’s frame of reference. He recalled repairing multi-million dollar homes in California from water destruction, putting my mini-flood in perspective. Art’s mama named him well. He is a restoration artist in my little world.

Kind soul that he is, Art also softened my negligence, describing it as an “accidental overflow” that happens all the time. Like when a mother is washing dishes, sees her baby in danger and rushes off with the water still running, he explained.

I appreciated even obliquely being compared with a vigilant mother saving her baby from harm. Neither Fred nor Art knew about my terrible loss, so their gentleness meant all the more to me. I couldn’t bring myself to attempt to explain how my best friend’s sudden death led to me handwashing my bras which led to the flood.

Days later I sit through my best friend’s funeral. When I left home for the service that morning, oversized fans continued to blast drying air, a four-day process that created a deafening cacophony of white noise. Still, the fans somehow were comforting. Total Restoration Solutions, LLC, was making things right again.