My friend Isabel’s marriage of 20 years is ending. My friend Danielle’s daughter is scheduled for major surgery which she direly needs. My friend Janine needs to do another test to see if cancer has returned to her body, only this time she is a widow with a young son to care for. I could go on and on: another friend can’t find a job, yet another can’t conceive.
I could feel despair, because I love them, every one; because I wish I could do something to give them back the sense of certainty, comfort, that they used to have, that they yearn for. At least, I wish I could do something that would make them feel all better, the way I did for my babies when they toppled and I stood them up, dusted them off and set them loose again with a kiss. But I can’t. There’s nothing that I could do that would come even close to that.
Except, hold loving energy for each of them, see them as their brightest, most radiant selves, and, simply, be present to them.
I know this, because, when I have been drowning, breathless and scared, I could feel them doing it for me. Their presence created a modest, but vital, space for me to be able to take a deep breath and remember my Self.
Nothing changed. And yet, somehow, it did. I was held, and that made all the difference.