Your friend in crisis needs you. To be present and silent.

Dear friends of a friend,

Our friend is hurting. And you might not know what to do or say, so perhaps you’ll find this useful.

{Stop asking what you can do. There’s probably nothing.}

I’m a fixer, so I get it. When I see someone suffering, I want to alleviate it. Do you need me to slay a dragon? Give me a sword. Do you need me to climb a thousand stairs on my hands and knees to pay a penance? I’ll get started. Do you need a tumor removed from your skull? See, there’s nothing you can do to fix that.

{Stop giving unsolicited advice. You’re not Wikipedia.}

Step away from Google, your holy book, your cousin’s great-aunt’s experience with this very thing and your own opinions. It’s easy to tell our friend in crisis what we would do if we were them, but we’re not them. We’re us, and they’re them. And as much as I would love to deliver the silver bullet, I don’t have it. Neither do you.

{Stop retreating. Be brave.}

You can’t fix it and you don’t know what to say, so you disappear. You avoid her. You are a little bit shitty. I mean, I emphasize with you for a moment and then I can’t anymore. She doesn’t get to retreat. She can’t resign from cancer. She doesn’t get to shut the door on the nightmare that is her family. She won’t go to sleep and wake up in an alternate reality in which everything is better. So why should you?

Here’s what you can do.

{Be present.}

Drop by her house to deliver goodies without being asked. Take her to lunch. Babysit the kids or walk the dog. Give her breathing moments. Check in. You’re all up in my thoughts. You don’t have to say anything, but do this life with her … even the messy parts. Even if you’re far away.

{Exist with her.}

Sit with her in this uncomfortable space of helplessness. You won’t have the answers. You won’t know what to say. You won’t fix it. And that’s all OK, because that’s not what she’s asking for. She’d like a cookie and a hug. Or kale chips and someone to nap with her. Or to feel your presence beside her at 2 a.m. in what has become a sorrowful bed. This you can do.

{Talk, or don’t.}

She doesn’t want every conversation with you to be about her crisis. She’d like to chuckle at the mental image of you falling UP the stairs. She wants to know about the big things that are happening in your life and the small things too. She needs to hear that normalcy exists somewhere and that one day it will return to her. And then at other times, silence is the greatest gift you can give her.

So, dear friends of a friend, be present for her, please. Exist with her. Talk. Be silent. And refer to Points A, B, C as needed.