[Note to reader: I wrote this to someone who shared feelings of guilt about not being there often enough during their best friend’s dying days. I hope it provides some relief to others who share the same feelings. – mjf]

Dear friend,

I wanted to write to you to express some thoughts about how you may be feeling about your loss, your dearest friend’s death.

You mentioned that when you saw your friend’s husband at the funeral that he came to you with a big hug saying how you were such a good friend to her. But you felt you didn’t seem to deserve that, in part because you seemed to feel guilty for not spending much time in person with her in the last year.

But I’m here to tell you that your friendship was felt and truly appreciated. This is based on my own experience, especially with some of my and Keith’s closest friends, ones who could not be there often in those three months.

There is a difference between friends who impose that friendship upon the other, and those – like you were to your friend – whose friendship was strong without imposition, regardless of the physical distance that separated you. Those small gifts you sent, the emails to her daughter or her husband, each and every one of those small moments were huge. For they carried with them the strength of years of sharing and love, support and understanding. They carried with them a gentleness that acknowledged that sometimes space is good, and emotional support is more than for the dying, it is for those who suffer the waiting.

I’m sure your friend – during any coherent moments in her last weeks and days – recognized that. I’m sure she could see it in the faces of her loved ones, that they were receiving the love of dear friends like you who helped buoy them from behind so they could face what was ahead for them.

Be thankful for the gift of friendship and love you shared with your dear friend. And continue to support her children and husband with the same gentle touch that you shared before. Let them know your pain, too. For it will remind them that the grief is not theirs alone, and the journey to healing is one borne with others who knew your friend in different ways. It is an awakening journey that allows them to see their loved one in a different light. It is a journey that will be different for each of you, but one that will be beautiful and painful nonetheless.

Be thankful knowing that your small touches even from a distance were probably more appreciated than all the impositions of personal space that those geographically closer may have been unable to avoid. As harsh as it may seem, there are times during this summer’s dying process that I wished others would have let us be. Email was so much easier… I could read it on my own time, cry a little when it touched a nerve, and close the letter. But a phone call was harder to ignore, though still possible. Text messages were easier. They didn’t require the power of speech, something that often eluded me for my voice would begin cracking from the pain of retelling some worry. But the occasional email, or the simple voicemail saying “I am thinking of you and I don’t expect you to call me back” was often enough. As harsh as it sounds, having someone there all the time was sometimes more stressful than being left alone. It is hard to say, really, how much is enough. I’m sure it’s different for others. But my little family found that the distraction of the doorbell, or the pressure of wanting to find something for another to do because you didn’t want them to feel their offer of help was unappreciated… it sometimes added more pressure to a stressed family rather than help relieve any.

So I share this thought with you, that you’ll lift any veils of guilt from your conscience about not being there more, especially in the end. They knew you were thinking of them. They knew they could call on you. And they knew you loved and cared for them deeply, and would share in their pain of losing someone. And just knowing how much you meant to your friend, and how you reached out with those simple and kind gestures, ones that were unimposing but probably always arriving at just the right time, those helped them ride out the last waves of an impossible storm. You were one of those precious life-rafts they could reach out to hold onto when the time came. And it did. That hug at the funeral said it all.

With warmest wishes and sincerity,
Mara

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