‘Are you sick of talking about it yet?’, my darling friend asked me over coffee on Monday.
‘Hmmmm…’ I contemplated, staring into my latte for the answer to his question.
‘Sometimes I am. It really depends who I’m with.’
‘Yeah… I understand.’
And he did.
When your whole world falls apart, people don’t know what to say.
So they either say nothing at all, or what they do say is often not entirely what you’d like to hear.
There’s nothing more frustrating than being told to stay positive when life feels amiss.
‘But honesty, what do they think we’re doing?’, I say with a smile.
When your whole world falls apart, find somebody whose world is crumbling too.
They understand you’re sick of being on repeat, but that you might want to chat about it all day.
Because with them, you can talk how quickly your priorities change, how your perception of existence has completely morphed and why becoming present and living in the moment has changed your life – without sounding like a complete twat.
They get it. And you get them.
When your whole world falls apart, find somebody who allows your compassion to ease their loneliness and fear.
Allow them to share in your sadness that the future hopes and dreams you once held for your family not only no longer exist, but that they never did. They were never real.
Nothing has been taken from you. It was never yours.
Memories however, are an incalculable treasure.
When your whole world falls apart, you realise that death is just as much a part of life as living.
That one hundred percent of people die. That even if you don’t lose them now, one day you will. But it doesn’t make it any easier.
‘Why couldn’t this happen to somebody else?’ my friend pleads with me over another coffee, while his face says he would never wish this upon his worst enemy.
We admit the cliches are all true.
Do what you love. Live life. Be present. Money isn’t everything. Family is.
My friend’s skin glows in the red, setting sun. I squint at him, as we talk about the fact we’ve both realised our parents aren’t super heroes after all; they’re fantastically normal, incredibly vulnerable and wonderfully imperfect.
We sit in silence over another wine and a bowl of hot potato chips with wasabi mayonnaise, watching the ocean, without any idea of what the next few days, weeks, months or years will bring for either of us.
Amigos in adversity, united in uncertainty. In reality, there are no guarantees. There is no such thing as permanency.
Find somebody who is riding the same wave as you.