The world needs more people to show up for others.

Too many people, for whatever reason, are afraid to be vulnerable, to sit in silence, to try and understand and empathize others.

The reality is, not a lot of people stick around when life gets messy. It sort of felt like my life was a snow globe. At my diagnosis, everything in my world was shaken around and when the snow settled after the storm, I could see who held on and who had let go.

The friends and family who showed up for me meant everything to me during the months of anxiety, sadness, fear, and confusion. I craved people to try and understand me without rushing to try and fix it. I yearned for a friend to listen to me cry and hear out my fears without telling me to be positive and that everything’s fine.

Is it human nature to immediately pretend a problem isn’t there? To try and ignore things as they are?

Just once, I wanted someone to say, “Yeah, that sucks Laura. I hear you and am with you in this, but I am so sorry you have to fight this.”

More than anything, I just wanted people to respond with “I’m sorry”.

Be the person who actively listens.

Be the person who validates someone’s pain and hardship.

Be the person who avoids monopolizing the conversation with how this relates to them.

Be the person who is okay sitting in the silence.

Be the person who checks in often.

Be the person that doesn’t just ask about physical symptoms, but emotional wellbeing.

Be the person who doesn’t disappear.

Be the person who even after the big steps are over, asks about them.

Be the person who visits.

This is the person who makes the isolation of grief and illness seem a bit less consuming. This person is the one who reminds you that people are thinking of you. This is the kind of person that makes a huge impact on the bad days.

Simple check in texts, that weren’t just the day of my surgery, but days and weeks and months after, meant the world.

The day after a big procedure, or treatment, it is easy to send a check in text because it is pretty superficial in nature. It’s summed up in symptoms.

“I am in pain” can be responded with encouragement that it’ll get better soon and to hang in there.

But what about after I’ve “recovered”, when I am still in pain. Different pain. Isolating pain.

Where are they now?

When a friend wants to catch up out of the blue, it seems too much to share because there has been too much missed.

But with my friends who have been with me in the storm, I can show up as I am.