My best friend is grieving.
Within just a few months, she lost two of the most important people in her life.
Her life partner.
And then her mother.
Her mother had required a great deal of her time, her attention, and her care. So these losses have not only left enormous holes in her heart.
They have changed the structure of her life.
Suddenly, there is space.
So much space.
And I find myself wondering:
What does it mean to be a good friend inside that space?
My instinct, of course, is to be there for her.
I want to call.
I want to check on her.
I want to make sure she knows she isn’t alone.
I want to wrap my arms around her and somehow make things a little easier.
That’s what love wants to do.
But I’m realizing that sometimes love needs to do something else.
Sometimes love needs to step back.
I Can’t Know What She Needs
Grief is deeply personal.
There is no correct way to do it.
No timetable.
No schedule.
No point at which someone should be ready to go out again, laugh again, make plans again, or begin imagining what life might look like next.
And I don’t want my friend to have to take care of me while she is grieving.
I don’t want her to have to answer my calls because she’s worried I’ll think she’s withdrawing.
I don’t want her to feel obligated to reassure me that our friendship is okay.
I don’t want her to have to talk when she needs silence.
Or have company when she needs solitude.
Or explain what she needs when perhaps she doesn’t even know yet.
So I’m trying to learn a delicate balance.
How do I give someone space without making them feel abandoned?
I don’t think there is a formula.
I think there is simply love, attention, sensitivity, and trust.
A way of saying:
I’m here.
You don’t have to take care of our friendship right now.
You don’t have to answer.
You don’t have to make me feel useful.
Take whatever space you need.
When you reach for me, I’ll be here.
Sometimes Being There Means Not Being There
That’s a strange idea, isn’t it?
We usually think of being there for someone as something active.
Showing up.
Calling.
Visiting.
Doing.
But perhaps sometimes being there for someone means giving them room to be somewhere without us.
That isn’t abandonment.
It isn’t indifference.
It can actually be an enormous act of trust.
I trust you to know what you need.
I trust you to find your own way through this.
I trust our relationship enough that I don’t need constant reassurance that it still exists.
And maybe most importantly:
I trust that you will reach for me when you need me.
We All Need Space
The more I think about this, the more I realize it isn’t only about grief.
We all need space sometimes.
Space to think.
Space to feel.
Space to make a decision.
Space to change our minds.
Space to create.
Space to heal.
Space to do absolutely nothing for a while.
Space to discover what we actually want before somebody asks us what we’re going to do next.
And sometimes what we need most is simply time without demands attached to it.
We live in a world that is very good at filling empty spaces.
Phones.
Messages.
Appointments.
Responsibilities.
Advice.
Noise.
Even love.
But if every empty space is immediately filled, when do we become quiet enough to hear ourselves?
When do we get to discover what wants to emerge next?
Giving Ourselves Space
Perhaps this is also part of coming home to ourselves.
We need to give other people room.
But we need to give ourselves room, too.
Not every moment needs to be productive.
Not every problem needs to be solved immediately.
Not every emotion needs to be analyzed.
Not every silence needs to be filled.
Sometimes we need to sit in the space between what was and what will be.
And simply be there.
Maybe something is happening in that space that we cannot yet see.
Love Doesn’t Always Move Closer
I’m still learning this with my friend.
Sometimes I wonder if I should call.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m giving her too much space.
Sometimes I worry that she might think I’m not there.
That’s when I have to trust, too.
I have to trust our friendship.
I have to trust her.
And I have to trust that love doesn’t disappear simply because there is some space between two people.
Perhaps that’s what I’m learning most of all:
Love doesn’t always move closer.
Sometimes love stays exactly where it is, quietly holding the door open.
And saying:
Go where you need to go.
Take the time you need.
Feel what you need to feel.
You don’t need to worry about me.
I’m right here.
Maybe that’s one of the most beautiful gifts we can give someone we love.
Stay close enough that they can feel your love.
Step back enough that they can feel their own heart. ❤️