A few years ago, I met a wonderful, engaging woman who was part of a business entrepreneurs’ group that I was in. We made an instant connection. Although she lived in New York, we maintained an online and over the phone friendship while only seeing each other a couple of times a year. When the group ended, my relationship with her was less frequent. However, when we did connect, we had wonderful conversations. 

After not hearing from her for awhile and not seeing much from her on social media, I reached out. It turned out that my friend had a cancer diagnosis and had been in treatment and now remission. She clearly needed to process some of what she’d been through, so I listened and empathized as she shared her journey and her hope for the future. When we hung up we agreed to connect again soon. 

Months went by and besides a text or a quick comment on social media, I didn’t call my friend. I’d love to tell you it was because I was too busy or had connected to her in some other way, but that wasn’t the truth. The truth was that it was painful to talk to her. The selfish irony of that statement isn’t lost on me in that she was the one who had suffered, but the truth of it stands. I’m comfortable with listening to and helping people with painful and challenging situations. It’s what I do for a living. Yet in those instances, I’m helping people do something about it. I’m doing more than listening and empathizing, I’m guiding them toward moving forward. It was so challenging to “just” listen to my friend and not guide or help her in some way. It’s an incredibly selfish statement and action, and yet I know it’s true for me and so many others.

Last month, after not talking to my friend since last fall, her family posted on her Facebook page that she had died. The cancer had returned to tragic consequences. This young, beautiful, vibrant mother of two was gone. The loss to her family and friends who loved her is devastating. I sat and looked at that Facebook post with such grief and sadness and yes, regret. Regret that I hadn’t reached out for a quick hello. Maybe my friend would have shared her situation with me. Maybe by just listening and being present, I could have given her a few minutes of comfort. Maybe if I let go of my own need to fix others, I could have actually been a better friend.

Learning to Be Present with a Friend in Pain

I have thought about my friend daily since seeing that Facebook post. I think about her last days with her family, how truly loved she was and how much she loved and gave back to so many in her life. I’ve also thought about how I want to be a friend who can do more than give advice. I want to be a friend who can be present for sad and difficult conversations. A friend who can sit with someone else’s grief and not have to fix it or change it. It’s a challenge born out of regret and a desire to be more open to all feelings and experiences that life has for each of us. 

Why are we so afraid to sit with someone else’s pain? Why must we take it on as something we need to fix versus something we can just hold for someone else? What would happen if we could be fully present for someone else and still go on with our own lives with joy and happiness? I’m not sure that I have all the answers, but I certainly have more awareness of my own fears and motivations around these issues. I’ll grieve my friend and also think about how I can do things differently with the friends and loved ones that are still here. 

Love,

Lisa Kaplin Psy. D. PCC