The father of one of my closest friends died last night after having survived something like a year and a half with cancer. Of course I am brought back to my own father’s passing, as well as the rapid and horrific death of my father in-law, who died of cancer (can it be?) over a decade ago and with whom I was quite close.

I think losing my dad taught me something important that’s (I hope) helping me be a better friend. Which is: death and sadness and hardship are horrible to have to deal with, and as someone slightly outside the sorrow, it’s natural to feel useless and unable to convey your sympathy. But. But. Being present and supportive, even if unable to speak the words you wish would be fitting or meaningful, will mean the world to those who are feeling the loss most acutely. I used to fret and recede in the face of others’ mourning not knowing what to say or how to act. Nowadays, I’d rather err on the side of speaking clumsily, even boldy phoning (though I’m not a fan of the phone) when I fear that doing so is intrusive. Because I felt grateful and blessed when people in my life acknowledged my grief and reminded me that they cared.

We’ll be going to the wake on Sunday (and I had to admit to another friend that my ignorant Quaker ass has no idea whether it’s more appropriate to go to the wake versus the funeral, and really what a wake actually is, despite reading about raucous whiskey-drenched literary versions). In the past year, I’ve been useless to my friend as he dealt with his father’s decline, other than baking some lemon bread with a raspberry swirl one weekend when I wanted to do something for him but didn’t know where to begin.

I wish I could somehow put enough love out into the world to serve as protection, or at least some sort of a buffer, for the people I cherish when dark times descend. I also wish that my hope for a merciful god who will ensure that everyone I’ve lost is being cared for will extinguish my fear that memories of them are all that’s left.