Category: Relationships

How to Help a Friend

Throughout my teenage years, I started to notice something new and different emerging within my closest friendships. I seemed to be spending a lot of time engaging with friends who were coming to me for some kind of help. Whether they needed me for a rescue mission, as a partner in crime, or simply for a listening ear, I noticed a new purpose developing in my young life. I even contemplated choosing psychology as a major in college until I realized that emotionally engaging in deeply personal issues with others might feel like too much in addition to my own. So instead, I chose the unofficial role of the friendly neighborhood support system, choosing quality of life over a paycheck.

I do believe we are capable of helping those who mean the most to us, even if we find ourselves feeling at a loss of what to do or say. On the flip side, some people don’t want or know how to accept help, so there will never be a life manual of instructions on how to navigate this tricky territory. As someone who has a hard time allowing anyone to make my life easier in any way, I feel like I have a dual vantage point. How do you help someone who doesn’t know what they need? Here are some tips to help you avoid finding yourself within the disappointing majority of people whose response to that question would be, “you don’t.”

The first step is to gauge the situation with the response. Are we dealing with a full-throttle emergency, or would the less-is-more-reaction be just as effective? Most people are surprised to know that a small gesture can feel massive to someone in need. We’ve all seen the meal chains that are put together for families grappling with illness or tragedy, but I’ve discovered that something personal can be even more meaningful. 

Covering the Basic Needs 

Having simple, daily needs covered can hold so much value when we’re in a situation where the basics become difficult. I’ve learned to think about ways to offer helpful solutions with that reality in mind.  I watched a friend spend two exhausting years caring for her terminally ill mother, so shortly after the funeral, I gave her a gift certificate for a day of spa pampering. Another woman whose chronic illness left her housebound was thrilled when I picked her up one day and took her on a beautiful drive. The new mom up the block was grateful when I took care of her newborn and laundry for a few hours so she could take a much-needed nap. I must admit that the best help I received was having a friend come over to walk my dog after breaking my foot. Little things can feel much bigger when you’re in distress. A person can make a huge impact just by showing that they care, even in the smallest of ways.

Offering a Heavier Lift

Of course, there are also extreme cases where a good friend might feel the need to cross a potentially uncomfortable boundary. In most situations, I feel it’s probably better to be asked for that kind of help. I once impulsively offered a full weekend of cooking, company, and support, and I was given the go-ahead to step in. The family was in crisis, but by the end of our time together, I felt they weren’t the only ones who received something positive out of our time together. My assistance made a difference in their stress relief, and seeing them in a better place when I left made me feel rewarded, too. 

As much as I will be there for my friends no matter what they face, the good times will continue to be important, too. The “Lucy and Ethel” moments with my best friend from third grade stand out in my mind as some of the best times of pure joy. But we all know it can’t always be that way, and we serve ourselves and those around us better when we don’t run away from life moments that feel uncomfortable or challenging. Even worse would be avoiding a friend because you aren’t sure what to do. Like the traditional marriage vows, sometimes you too can make a difference in sickness and in health. And when you really care about someone, it’s always helpful to remember that even the smallest gestures can mean the most.

Posted on by Shari Brauner 0

Empty Nest: Party of Two

Empty nest. Two words have never terrified me more in my life. In my alternate reality, it wasn’t something I ever needed to worry about. I had three kids who consistently stuck to me like glue. Playdates were usually at my house, sleepovers were incredibly rare, and the suggestion of overnight camp was met with horror. Even when my older son went off to college, my daughter brought home a best friend who needed a family, so we basically took him in. I became convinced that our family model would work exactly that way: Kids would shuffle in and out but someone would always be home.

Cut to the summer of 2019, when my self-created delusion was in final-countdown mode. My family of five had already dwindled down to three. My older son had ensconced himself in independence in New York City a few years prior, and my younger son was home, looking forward to heading back to college in Florida at the end of August. My daughter had spent the past year living at home, applying to graduate school and taking years off my life. And yet her September departure was rocking me in ways I’d never experienced. How was I going to function inside an empty nest? 

My internal turmoil spewed out of my mouth at anyone who would listen. Some tried to console me while others just scoffed at how ridiculous I sounded. I had fear and dread written all over my face to the point that even the spirits noticed. My mother dragged me to a medium reading one night, where my deceased grandfather called out to me, “What are you so afraid of?!” 

Mother Nature gave me a small reprieve when Hurricane Dorian closed down the state of Florida at the beginning of September. My younger son flew home, which meant I still had someone living with me for a few extra days after the dreaded grad school drop-off. I savored his company and tried not to suffocate him, especially when we hugged goodbye at Newark Airport. 

Thanks to some creative planning on my husband’s part, the song playing when I got back into the car was “Just the Two of Us,” our new theme, whether we liked it or not. We stopped for lunch on the way home and it felt almost like a date. However, pulling into the driveway was startling for both of us. The house I would often see looking perfect on the outside yet filled with kid-centric clutter on the inside was completely empty and quiet. Quiet. Another cringe-worthy word in my vocabulary.

“I liked my husband better without the kids around — shocking, in part, because I think a large chunk of my fear centered around the worry that I would hate him.”

By the next day, the space-time continuum had sent us back to 1991, the year we got married. I prepared dinner for two, we talked without interruption, and we enjoyed watching TV together. The house was peaceful and I didn’t feel like I wanted to jump out of my own skin, but of course, I knew that wouldn’t last. We were still in the novelty phase.

An Empty Nest Can Be a Happy Nest

As the days passed, two big revelations slowly hit me. The first was that I liked my husband better without the kids around — shocking, in part, because I think a large chunk of my fear centered around the worry that I would hate him. Second, I was beginning to reconnect with myself. I was no longer somebody’s mom 24/7. All of their energy was out of the house, which meant I could get reacquainted with my own. I used to be a fun and busy person, and I still had a lot of strong interests worth pursuing. Having lunch with friends was no longer enough to give me purpose, so I started to fill my days with things for me. I made sure to get to the gym, I pursued a new level of my spirituality, and I joined a writer’s group. My family had kept me distracted from finishing a novel I started writing 12 years ago, but that excuse was no longer valid. I controlled all of my own time and it began to feel not only great, but empowering.

A striking realization came two nights before Thanksgiving: The kids were on their way home and I felt like I was on the cusp of an invasion. I sat on the couch, taking in the final moments of serenity, acknowledging that I actually liked the peace and quiet. Of course, I love my family and I treasure the rare times we are all together now, but I’m just as okay without them in my daily space. In fact, I prefer it. Getting reacquainted with myself has been the biggest benefit of my empty nest. Now my only fear is them coming back!

Posted on by Shari Brauner 0

Coping with the Death of a Friend

I’ll never forget that dreary fall day. Gray faces mirrored the dark sky as the news made its way around our tight-knit neighborhood. One of my closest friends had breast cancer. How could that be? Robin was as devoted to her faith as she was to her three young girls. We had only begun to share the experience of raising our kids together. It was impossible to wrap my head around what was happening.

To describe my friend Robin as a warrior would only scratch the surface of her strength. From that day forward, she refused to let cancer define her. Through a 10-year battle, her illness sat on the back burner of her world. After each crushing blow of disease progression, she kept her worst moments private, always focusing on teaching her girls invaluable lessons on limited time. She was an inspiration, yet at the same time, a mischievous spirit who enjoyed being an unpredictable troublemaker. We bonded in fits of laughter, doing our best to take life a little less seriously, whenever we could.

As the treatments took their toll, two-hour phone conversations became our norm. We spent hours trying to figure out how people could be so fascinating, our code word for ridiculous (or worse). I spun tales that brought the outside world into a life that was becoming smaller and more confining. What I didn’t realize at the time was the huge benefit I was getting from having someone on the other end to listen.

On the day we said goodbye, I felt nothing but shock. Tissues and tears filled the hospital room, but my eyes were dry. I choked out words that felt meaningless and empty, telling her to rest and reassuring her that her family would be okay. How could anything be okay? Her death would leave a gaping hole in all of us.

My one attempt to fill part of that hole took place at Christmas that year, when I delivered handwritten personalized letters instead of presents. The notes spotlighted qualities that each of her daughters had inherited from Robin, and included memories from their childhoods. It was my way of ensuring that memories of their mother became indelible, rather than getting lost over time.

“To describe my friend Robin as a warrior would only scratch the surface of her strength. From that day forward, she refused to let cancer define her.”

A few months later, I made sure the girls gave their father a birthday celebration exactly the way Robin would have done it. I taught them to make his favorite dinner and then I left them to celebrate together. All of the milestones were important, especially that first year, but as time moved along, their support system would diminish. It seemed too easy for people to forget and move on.

As the years passed, I watched Robin’s girls grow into amazing young women. We had family nights together at least twice a year, and they never hesitated to share how grateful they were to have me in their lives. Text exchanges in-between visits warmed my heart, especially birthday sentiments. We never got tired of sharing stories, memories, and time together.

On the tenth anniversary of her death, we had a special evening to celebrate Robin’s life. Chocolate chip cookies had been her specialty, but no one had attempted to make them until that night. I could feel her spirit directing me as I sweated over the vague recipe she shared with me only one time; adding extra flour to the standard Tollhouse ingredients. How much was anyone’s guess, but they came out perfect and the girls were excited to be able to carry on a family tradition that had been forgotten.

On September 21st of last year, Robin’s oldest daughter got married. It was a bittersweet experience and the tears I had somehow held in for more than 10 years began to flow. Meeting the groom of my friend’s daughter for the first time that day brought everything into perspective. He hugged me with gusto, expressing that he was so excited to finally meet me; the “legend.” Later, he added that, outside of the family, no one kept Robin’s memory alive the way that I did. The stories we told over the years had created the effect that he and Robin had “met,” when they actually never did. His sentiment was so heartfelt, and his words touched me in ways I never expected. Being acknowledged for guiding Robin’s girls to some form of being okay completely blew me away.

There is no rulebook or checklist for grief — there is only one’s heart. I love Robin’s family, and I feel blessed to be considered a special part of their circle.

Posted on by Shari Brauner 0