Felt like I got punched in the gut when my buddy Mike called sobbing last Tuesday. His best mate since college, Dave? Just gone. Car accident. Zero warning. Mike kept repeating “I just saw him yesterday, man” between these awful, raw cries. I stood there frozen in my kitchen, phone plastered to my ear, feeling utterly useless as a wet paper bag.
The Messy Start
I drove straight to Mike’s, no clue what I was doing. His eyes were red and hollow when he opened the door. My genius opener? “Hey… how you holding up?” Felt stupid the second it left my mouth. He just shook his head and walked back inside. I trailed behind like a lost puppy. We sat on his worn-out sofa, silence screaming louder than any words. Awkward? You bet. I kept shifting, clearing my throat – totally winging it. Didn’t try filling the quiet. Just sat there with him, breathing the same heavy air.
What Actually Helped (After I Stopped Pissing Around)
By day three, I ditched the “fix it” fantasy and focused on showing up. Here’s what sorta worked:
- Shut my trap. Seriously. When Mike started talking about Dave’s terrible karaoke nights or how he’d burn toast every time, I just nodded. Swallowed all my “at least he’s not suffering” junk advice.
- Stayed put. Went back Wednesday. And Thursday. Sometimes we talked. Mostly didn’t. Friday? Found him staring at the wall. Sat beside him. Easy stuff.
- Dealt with reality stuff. His trash overflowed. Dishes piled sky-high in the sink. I didn’t ask. Just grabbed a bag and took it out. Fed his goldfish Betty. Basic things felt huge.
- Got specific about help. Instead of “Let me know if you need anything” (which goes nowhere), I texted “Grabbing groceries tomorrow. Sending a list – add what you want.” He actually texted back: “Milk. Eggs.” Progress.
- Remembered Dave WITH him. When Mike mumbled “Dave hated this song” about some cheesy radio hit, I took the bait. “Oh yeah? What’d he blast instead?” Got a half-smile when he said “Thrash metal. Deafening.”
- Respected the zombie zone. Some days he looked wrecked. I’d say “Dropping food off. Won’t stay.” Left a container of stew on the step. Texted him after. He needed space, not a pep talk.
- Kept showing up weeks later. Stopped asking about Dave constantly. Started inviting him to mindless stuff – a walk, a stupid action movie. First invite? Shot down. Third? He showed up. Didn’t magically “move on.” Just… breathed.
Is it fixed? Hell no. Mike’s still carrying a bag of bricks. But last night, he actually laughed at my terrible joke about Betty the goldfish plotting escape. Felt like a tiny crack of light. Don’t have to be perfect. Just present. And bring stew.
