My Favorite Audience

A few weeks ago, a dear friend of mine had his heart broken, following several days of moderately intense ego-bruisers. It (his heart) had been fractured for awhile, but seemed to be holding steady, until he got the old five-finger-death-punch, dealt by someone he loves a great deal.  He came over, and as he recounted the particulars to my husband and I, he seemed somehow removed from the story, delivering it in a quiet monotone.  It didn't seem as if he was hiding from his feelings, rather that he'd been stewing in them for long enough to have reached a point of numb acceptance.  Numb acceptance can be a small relief, but it doesn't do much in the way of helping you begin you ascent from it.

As he told his story, I felt a lump rise in my throat, and before he could finish his next thought, I'd thrown my arms around him.  I don't know what it is about physical contact with someone who cares when you're on the brink, but it always seems to open the floodgates.  He buried his face in my shoulder and let the hurt come rolling out.  I didn't tell him everything was going to be okay, I didn't say "this too shall pass," or any of the other trite, if true, comfort phrases.  Everything will be okay, and time will pass, and eventually his heart will mend.  But nobody's heart every breaks over someone or something that brought them no joy, and when one is grieving the loss of that joy, telling them they'll feel better when the happiness they once had has become a more distant memory is not always such a comfort.

So our small group of devoted, loving friends just listened, asked a few questions, and put some good food in his tummy.  Our crestfallen friend started to resemble himself a little bit more.  He was still sad, but seemed stronger, and more equipped to begin his uphill climb by seeing himself more as we saw him; and less as how he'd come to see himself as understood by someone that couldn't reflect similar love and admiration.  When it came to be  bedtime for the little ones (who had done a fabulous job playing with my record player downstairs while the grown ups discussed the injustices of love), we all went up to my son's room for story time.  I guess it's a little unusual, but ever since Clark was a baby, when we have friends over, they are always close enough to be included in our family's favorite time of day.  The book I read was simple, and to the point, and said more or less everything a person who'd had a really rotten week needed to hear.  Here's the video of story time that night: