The Art of Being There

by Deb Boelkes

Have you ever felt completely stuck in a situation that you can’t get out of, stuck—out of duty,  stuck—out of love, stuck—out of honor, stuck in despair—without hope? It’s not a good feeling.

When someone you care about is in such a position, what do you do?

You want to help them, but you don’t really know what to do. You can’t change their situation. Sometimes all you can do is just be there.

Sometimes just being there can make a world of difference. Sometimes just listening—just letting them know you care—can be the spark that turns a deep dark despair into a ray of hope.

Have you ever been on either side of that equation? If so, you know what I’m talking about.

Earlier this year, before Covid-19 hamstrung the entire world, I received an email from a married friend. She was planning to travel out our way in July with a companion and wanted to visit us for a couple of days while on their journey. 

My husband and I are always happy to entertain houseguests, so we gladly said yes, though she made no mention of who her travelling companion might be. We knew it would not be her loving husband—20 years her senior—who, two years prior, had suffered a serious stroke and was now confined to an assisted care facility.  Happy to offer her some respite, we logged their visit on our social calendar and looked forward to their arrival.

The ensuing months flew by, in spite of the Covid lockdown. In late May we received an update from her indicating her travelling companion had backed out on their planned adventure. Instead, she now planned to come alone, assuming we would still be comfortable having her in our home, given all the concerns over Covid.

My husband and I didn’t think twice about it. Heaven knows, we certainly have plenty of room to social distance in our big, low country-style home.  We simply confirmed that we looked forward to her arrival.  

In June we heard from her again. This time she indicated she wanted to look at real estate while she was here. She hoped we would come along as she met with a realtor. She didn’t indicate what kind of real estate she was looking for or why, but we figured it might be a fun for us to get out of our own house and see what was on the market. So we replied enthusiastically, “Sure!”

When she finally arrived, she wasn’t at all the same light-hearted friend we had known before her husband suffered the stroke. The intervening months and years of challenges had definitely taken a toll on her.

Over dinner that evening she confessed she felt completely stuck. Her husband, who had formerly been so full of life, was no longer capable of doing anything for himself. Although his mind was still good, he required able-bodied assistance to perform even the most basic of bodily functions.

Over time, he had grown increasingly agitated and despondent, even though she dedicated hours each day to be with him—at least until she departed on this get-away. Now that she was only able to communicate with him by phone, he was even more despondent and angry with her. She was beside herself—stuck in purgatory.

Our hearts ached for her. How we wished we could wave a magic wand to make everything better for her and her husband. But alas, that magic wand was nowhere to be found. So we simply listened … and listened … as she poured her heart out to us.   

To make a long story short, over the ensuing four days, my husband and I simply focused on giving her a good time, looking at real estate with her, rather than dwell on her circumstances back home. Although she took time-outs to call her husband numerous times each day, she truly seemed to appreciate the attention we paid to her stated mission.

By the end of her visit, it seemed as though some of the burden she carried had eased a bit. When it came time to say our good-byes, we gave her our love, wished her Godspeed, sent her on her way, and hoped for the best.

Sometimes that’s all you can do. Sometimes you just need to be there. It’s not about solving unsolvable problems. It’s not about lamenting the situation at hand.

It’s about offering a sense of normalcy in an otherwise abnormal world.   It’s about listening … and caring … and loving that person, just as they are. That alone can sometimes be enough to give a much needed sense of hope for a brighter tomorrow.

That’s the art of being there.