Don't Ask, Do Tell: A Response

I wrote a blog post about a very sensitive subject: if you knew you were dying, would you tell your friends?

Most people were clear that they’d want to know if a friend of theirs was dying. But most people wouldn’t want to share similar news about themselves.

One of the comments I received deserved more than a quick response on the blog post. This is it:

I have cancer. Telling people was harder than dealing with the disease. The look of devastation on my best friend’s face cut right through my heart. After that, I avoided telling people as long as possible – dealing with their hurt and anxiety on top of the turmoil of emotions and fears I was carrying already (not to mention feeling ill) was just too much. And what can people do? Tell you how upset they are? For some people, they need to get to grips with the reality of having a terminal illness before dealing with everyone else’s reaction to it.

It doesn’t get more personal than this.

Yes, this is the fear everyone has, I think, of sharing devastating news. The initial reaction is bad enough, but then what? Will your friends behave differently around you now? Will they cry? Will you wind up comforting them?

I’ve seen beautiful, loving reactions from friends. I’ve seen selfish reactions from friends. And I’ve seen friends who were so stunned they didn’t know what to say or do.

But this is my response to Anonymous, for what it’s worth:

Cancer sucks and I’m sorry you have to deal with it. I hope it’s treatable and curable. Telling your best friend was an act of incredible courage. Their reaction – that look you saw – was terrible to witness, but obviously came from their love for you.

I agree that everyone needs to come to terms with a serious health challenge in whatever way makes sense to them. It’s just that sometimes the adjustment can be helped by the support of friends, to help keep you focused and sane and optimistic.

As for ‘what can people do?’ They can do a lot, though it will not seem earth-shattering to either of you. They can continue to be your friends, however you define that friendship. If you let them know it’s business as usual as far as your love for them, you’ll be giving them the chance to respond in kind.

You don’t have to make calls or visits to every single friend you have (a lot, I hope). But maybe you can designate one friend as your “personal assistant”. Have them set up a private Facebook group for keeping people up to date on your progress. That way your friends are in the loop, but you don’t have the added physical and emotional burden of responding to calls, visits, posts and emails (unless you want to). I’ve seen this work beautifully.

When my friend, Delle, announced on her Yahoo groups that she was discontinuing treatment for her cancer, there was a tremendous outpouring of love. “Save it for the funeral,” she objected. “I’m not dead yet.”

I told her it was too damn bad she had so many friends who loved her, and she’d just have to suffer through hearing it while she was still here.

Many of us who are so willing to support our friends, to be there for them in dark times, are reluctant to let them return the love.

What Anonymous decides to do will ultimately be what they believe is right for them. We all need to do what’s right for us.

Just don’t be afraid to let your friends love you as long as they can.

Mars and Venus Grieve Their Friends

Many books have been written about the differences between men and women, especially regarding relationships. Mostly, they focus on romantic relationships. Some consider friendships: girlfriends and “the guys”.

If you asked a group of people if men grieve differently, I’m guessing most would say yes. They’d insist that men work through their grief by doing things: keeping up with familiar routines or running errands for the family of their friend who died.

They may insist just as strongly that women talk through their feelings. Men are assumed to not want to verbalize their grief, much less share it.

Well, that described my opinion. When I started interviewing people for my book, I approached the men with pre-conceived notions about how they’d respond. I thought asking them to talk about a friend who died would be akin to pulling teeth. I would be lucky to get a few coherent sentences.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so wrong in my life.

“All my friends are dead,” one lamented recently. It’s not true, but at his age (87) he’s outlived most of them.

Then, without prompting, his next comment was, “I wouldn’t be where I am today without them.”

For almost 3 hours, he talked about the people he met at different moments, people who affected the trajectory of his life:

            The woman who invited him to Paris…

            The man who sponsored him to come to the U.S…

            The man who offered him a job that changed his career…

They’re gone now, and he speaks fondly of their friendships. He gives them full credit for the successes he’s had – both personal and professional. And he misses them.

He’s not the only man who’s talked for hours about friends he’s lost. My first interview with a man lasted almost 2 hours. Once he started talking about his best friend, he didn’t want to stop. He wanted to tell the stories, wanted to make sense of what had happened and why he still grieved so deeply.

Women may very well be more willing to talk about their feelings. But women are expected to talk about their feelings. So it’s not a surprise that they open up about grieving their friends.

Men are quite capable of talking about their friends, their memories, and their grief. But in many situations, men – rather than women – are judged by how they react. Men are assumed to be stoic, in control, able to “handle” messy things like grief.

The truth is most men aren’t given a safe, non-judgmental place to share their memories and sadness. They may be protecting their image; they may feel the need to be stronger than anyone around them.

But without realizing it, I’ve given some of them a place to vent: to be angry that their friend died, to be sad they died, to wonder what it all means to them now.

I’m not there to make a diagnosis or prescribe anti-depressants. I’m just there to listen. So, while I still try to finish my first book, there will be a second one: just about men grieving their friends.

This takes no special talent or skill. You can do it too.

If you know a man who’s lost a friend recently, get together with him. Go have coffee or a beer. Just hang out.

Tell him you’re sorry their friend died. And ask him to tell you something about that friend.

Just don’t be surprised if you’re listening for a long time.

“Old Friends Make Life’s Voyage a Pleasure Cruise”



Eric Zorn


 If you ever wondered why friends are so important to us - men and women alike - just read Eric Zorn’s column in today’s Chicago Tribune.

It points out what I’ve tried to explain in this blog: our grief when they die is unlike other types of grief.

When you read his column, you think, “Well, of course, they would mourn for each other”. And I’m sure they will.

But that kind of experience - friend grief - is often dismissed as unimportant, lacking in comparison to grieving a family member.

But love is love, and when someone we love dies, we mourn them. Our hearts don’t care about titles or legal relationships. All we know is that the world is a sadder place because that friend is gone.

So, in full support of the trip Eric took with his buddies, I ask you to think about friends you haven’t seen for a while. Think about friends to whom you say, “We should get together more often”.

And then get off your butt and do something about that, before you get any closer to port.

Old Friends Make Life's Voyage a Pleasure Cruise