An Amazing Weekend

I had a great experience this past weekend staying in the home of a close friend.  His family was away traveling and I was passing through his area, so it was just the two of us.  He has known about my bedwetting for a long time and so, as a rare blessing, I wasn't anxious about it.  But it gets even better than that.
The first night I stayed with him, I woke up wet.  I had done my best to empty my bladder right before bed but the drinks we had shared late at night proved too much for it.  I had hoped to sleep in, but instead I was wide awake at 6:30 in the morning wondering what to do.
My friend had a morning appointment so I knew he was going to be up early.  I decided to leave him a note telling him I was up and would have breakfast with him if he wanted.  I went and lay back down, still with my soaked pull-up on and feeling abject and defeated.
A bit later my friend came and knocked on the door of my room.  "I'm starting breakfast," he said.  I looked up at him and murmured something incoherent.  "Are you OK?"  I paused for a moment and said, "Yeah, I'll have breakfast with you."  He starts for the kitchen but moves a little slowly, almost like he is expecting something more. 
"What should I do with my pull-up?"  It was an honest question.  I really didn't know in his house what would be the best way to dispose of such a thing.
If the question startles or surprises him, he shows absolutely no sign of it.  He thinks for a minute.  "Tell you what, I'll get you a plastic bag to wrap it up and you can just throw it in the trash."  He leaves.  I just sit there in bed, dumbstruck.  A minute later he comes back, holding an empty plastic grocery sack.  Without a word, he walks to the bed and hands it to me, I'm still lying there, and turns straight back to the kitchen without another word.
I go to the bathroom, wash myself up, and put the pullup in the sack and take it to the trash - carrying it right past my friend in the kitchen on my way there.  I turn back sheepishly toward my friend in the kitchen.  He smiles and asks what sounds good to me for breakfast.  That's it.
Next morning... I actually got a good night's sleep but woke up once and made a trip to the bathroom, then fell right back asleep again.  Perfect, just like I draw it up.  I wake up in the morning, maybe a half hour before the planned time and with a very full bladder, but my pull-up is completely dry.  Nice.  Feels great.
I empty my bladder and head for the living room, still with the dry pullup on under my pajamas.  My friend is there working on something with his laptop.  He glances up at me.  "Did you sleep OK?"  Such a loaded question.  He knows it's loaded, too - he's just asking in such a way as to give me permission to talk about it if I want, or change the subject if I'd rather not, all the while not drawing attention to the fact that that's what he's doing.  Ingenious, really.
"I woke up dry."  It takes some effort to say, but I really appreciate my friend's display of patient understanding, and decide I want him to be able to share in the joy of the occasion.  As the words come out, I feel like celebrating.  I woke up dry!  Not that this is a novel event, it happens to me a lot.  But it doesn't happen to me all the time, and that makes the times it does happen seem that much more special - certainly more special than it is for my friend, who hasn't experienced a wet bed of his own making since he was 3.  (Perhaps it's all the more remarkable in that he does have some frustrating memories of waking up in puddles from his younger brother.)  He knows how special it is for me, though. 
But he doesn't make a big deal out of it.  He just looks up at me, making full eye contact this time, smiles and says "I'm glad.  It must feel great to wake up dry."  Then without a moment's pause he turns his gaze back down, resumes what he was typing on his laptop.  That's it.  I murmur something in agreement, yes it does feel good.  Then I realize that what he just did had blessed me far more profoundly than if he had jumped up and down and danced with me upon hearing my wonderful news.  That was it!  Whether I wake up in a wet bed, or a dry bed.  He's there, he's my friend, and he treats me just the same.  Understanding, but not assigning either outcome more importance than it is worth.  It's just another happening, like last night's rainstorm, or the pair of birds building a nest in the backyard.  It is what it is.  I'm sorry.  I'm glad.  You'll do better next time.  I'm happy for you.  Let's have breakfast.
As my friend settles back into his work, I take up a spot on the other couch, across the room.  Then I am hit by the full weight of realizing what has just happened.  My friend sees me exactly as I am, including my deepest, darkest secrets, and loves me all the same.  I should say that this particular friend knows things about me that are a lot darker than mere bedwetting, as dark and painful as any of you who know me know that that has been in my life.  My emotions for the rest of the morning are so powerful that even my physical body is overwhelmed by them.  I have trouble even standing up, walking, eating.  But it is all OK. 
At one point I try to get up to walk to the breakfast table and I stumble and fall to one knee.  My friend rushes over to me in concern.  "Are you OK?"  If only he knew.  I can barely walk, I am so overcome with emotion.  But OK?  If only he knew!  I am more OK at this moment than I have ever been in my life.
The rest of the weekend (well, the rest of that morning and afternoon) passes less eventfully.  My nerves eventually calm down and my body and mind eventually coalesce back into a state of more or less normal functioning.  After I am all packed and ready to go, my friend and I head out for one last walk, one last conversation.  It is just as it should be.  Peaceful, encouraging, freeing.  My bedwetting doesn't come up at all.  It doesn't have to.  It's there, it hasn't left me,  but it doesn't have to be there all the time.  I don't need to remind myself every five minutes that my friend really knows about it, and is really OK with it.  We can talk about other things.  Things that normal friends talk about.   Some things fun, some things serious.  All things full of understanding, grace, and unconditional love.