Keep your friends close...

For the last month or so, a friend of mine has been crashing on my couch and now that she's packed up her stuff and moved back home, I feel... lost.

When I first offered her the option of staying with me (due to circumstances I won't discuss here), I felt apprehensive because I've never been the type of person who liked having a roommate. Just the thought of having someone invade my personal space was enough to give me heart palpitations, but I figured she was in a bind and I was in a position where I could help, so I did. During the period of time that she spent with me, I learned a lot about myself and I can honestly say I'm a better person for having had her around.

I think there's something to be said for friendships that are built on similarities. What I didn't know prior to this experience is that she and I are a lot alike. We're both writers who work tirelessly to put out the best quality of news possible, despite the usual hardships full-time writers face. Outside of work, we both enjoy reading (she brought a huge pile of books with her to my house, for which I was thankful because I found a few interesting novels to read) and we both seem to be unlucky in love. It's refreshing to talk to someone who understands exactly how that can negatively affect my overall outlook on life. Plus just having someone around to talk to and laugh with was nice, I won't lie.

Now that she's "moved out," I find myself bored with my same old routine. Quality alone time is important, but I crave company. I want more than anything to go out and do something, anything... but what?

Remember to show, don't tell

It was 8:15 a.m. and the waiting room of Dana-Farber Cancer Institute in Boston was already bustling with activity. Nurses came and went through the double doors leading to the treatment area as patients – some moving more slowly than others – were triaged and prepared for the day. It was a Thursday – the middle of my workweek and Dana-Farber was the last place I thought I’d be.

I will be the first to admit that throughout my 20-something years, I’ve lived in relative comfort with little to disrupt my happy little world. A little over a month ago, however, I got a phone call from a dear friend, who broke the news that she was diagnosed with breast cancer. 

Almost immediately, I went into reporter-mode, questioning her as to what kind, what stage, and what treatment options were available. Once I got the facts, I told her if she needed anything, all she had to do was ask. 

Since I moved to Western Mass four years ago, Debbi has been like a mother to me. Whenever I found myself in a situation where all I wanted was a hug from my own mom (who lives nearly two hours away), Debbi was there to offer comfort and wisdom. It was she who took me to the hospital for an ultrasound last year following a minor surgical procedure. I didn’t want to go alone and since my mom wasn’t around, she volunteered her time. When the tables were turned, and I found out she had cancer, I didn’t hesitate to offer her the same in return, at least to the best of my ability. 

Both of her children (who are about the same age as I) live out of state, and are unable to be here to help her through her treatments. My logic was simple: If it was my mom and I wasn’t able to care for her myself, I’d hope someone else would do it for me. 

Last month, I accompanied Debbi to Boston for her second of what I can only imagine will be many chemotherapy treatments. It was a long day for both of us, and afterwards, Debbi thanked me profusely for not only offering to go with her, but for actually following through. 

While I appreciate her thankfulness, I was caught off guard when she gave me the heartfelt commendation recently. It didn’t take much effort on my part to accompany her, and during her treatment, I was able to get a little reading and writing done. With the obvious exception of spending a majority of the day in the hospital (which was nothing at all like what "Grey's Anatomy" would like you to believe), it was just like spending time with any other friend. 

Last week, almost a month after my foray into Boston with Debbi, I was watching a TV interview with an author whose new book I recently read. In the book, “Promises to Keep,” Jane Green wrote about the way cancer touches people’s lives, using her own experience with her friend as her inspiration for the novel’s characters. During the interview, the author describes how she had offered to help her friend during her illness, and followed through by doing such mundane (yet important!) things as cooking meals for the family, etc. 

It was a five-minute interview, but it made me stop and think. 

In the grand scheme of things, I lead a good life. I have a home and a job, not to mention friends whom I love and a family who would do anything for me if necessary. I’ve had my fair share of angst-ridden phone calls home during which I’ve complained about truly trivial matters, and yet my family and friends have listened with sympathetic ears while I got my worries off my chest. 

With Debbi’s cancer diagnosis came a paradigm shift. I have always strived to be a good friend and a good person, but I think I could be better. During the last year, through my own experience and now with my experience with Debbi, I’ve learned not to take for granted the people who step up to the plate when it counts. Those are the people who matter.

When it comes to friendships, it’s more important to show than tell; doing something for another is better than simply saying you’ll do it. The author being interviewed on TV last week said it succinctly, but she said it perfectly: “Remember to show the people you love that you love them.” 

That’s easier said than done, but it shouldn’t be.

Column reprinted with permission from The Journal Register newspaper.