And it's not just him. There's this other friend I have who has been what I call the "brother of my heart" for over a decade. The one kidney he has which was a donation from his mother is not doing so well and there's little chance he'll get another because of the other interesting health problems he has (none of them are weird sex related... he's just got a weird body chemistry).

I've known and loved him for so long, and knowing that any second things could get worse makes me sad.

Other than making plans to visit ASAP, what do I do?

I am in a similar situation with my heart. A bit of arterial placque could break free at any moment and block the wee bit of oxygenated blood that does reach my heart. Most likely, Pow. that's it.

If one does not come to terms with it, nothing will be accomplished during what life is left. When I had surgery last week, a point came where the surgeon said to me basically, "If I continue, you could die now and the only warning you will get will be a quick glance from me and a 'Sorry'". If I had not already settled my mind around my mortality, I could not have made the decision to allow him to continue.

What can you do? Just be there. Go on as usual. Be happy for the first friend who has reconciled his situatuation. If the second friend hasn't found peace, expect to be an occasional emotional outlet for him. Those who haven't dealt yet are scared shitless and when they let go with their emotions, they need someone who will listen without judgment.

Further, your own questioning of how to respond is good too. Those blessed with good health will experience the deaths of many friends. Grieve for us when we pass, but don't cripple yourself needlessly.

TL - As for your first friend, I think depression in the face of undiagnosed/uncontrolled illnesses is very common. My father went through that period (and still faces it from time to time). Sometimes it's all tied up chemically with the illness itself. Sometimes it just stems from the fact that he's too damned tired to keep fighting anymore. I don't really know what to say in these situations, either, except to empathize and give him a big hug. It's different for me, I suppose, because he can see himself living on through my own life, and I try to assure him that I'm doing great and that half of what I am stems from what he's taught me.

It's not about what you say, but what they're saying to you. Just be with them. Show up like you're doing already.

The real stuff that needs to happen is already happening. There's a wider net that catches all of us in times like that.

Yeah.

What do you say when a gal walks in to buy flowers for her friend who just lost her boyfriend because, altho he survived Iraq/Afghanistan (I forget which) he didn't survive the bar fight that broke out just because those guys in Cripple Creek Colorado didn't like the fact he played Margarita on the jukebox?

That just ain't right.

As to your question, trishalynn, all you can do when your friend is dealing with those kinda things is look them in the eye and tell them the bad stuff? well, it sucks.

My friend who had cancer (the one who died) told me -when he first got sick-that the hard part was knowing how to relate to people who didn't know what to say to him. He didn't know what to say either. He craved people cutting thru the bs and just saying, Man, this sucks. He hated how people felt they had to walk on eggshells around him. And he didn't know how to react to them either.

Yeah, verily, it sucks.

You know what I think I'd want to hear? And this is just me, because I'm not dying and I don't know what it is like to be dying ...

... but I'd want to hear the words "I'll miss you." Even after I came to terms with it, I'd want to know that I'd be remembered, and missed, and that while I'd be done with tests and treatments and suffering, there would be someone out there still thinking of me every once in awhile.

And then, after that, I think I'd want to spend the rest of my shortened life doing whatever I could to enjoy my last days and/or months.

But that's just me, and I don't know, really. Because I don't know what it's like. All the loved ones I've lost have died suddenly. It must hurt terribly to know someone who is dying slowly, and to be grieving even while he is still alive, but you do have one precious thing, which is time to say goodbye.

((hugs))

And hugs also to Ardiril.

I dunno. I'm coming to terms with this by proxy. My dad has dementia, and much of the time -- he's not my dad anymore. He's just a shell that has superficial resemblance. There's a certain sf story by a well-known writer I'm trying to remember along those lines. Hmmm. My mom and I are basically already in grieving. He's dead, except he isn't dead, and so every day we have to actually deal with him and all his demented quirks. It's tough to actually face every day with the expectation that it not only isn't getting better, it's probably getting worse. So you come to terms, because it's the only way to get through the day.

stilicho mentions the other extreme to all this, and thereby illustrates why this is such a complex topic for everyone involved. In all cases, we are like the Monty Python character who says, "I'm not dead yet." However, while some always display obvious signs thats something is quite out of the normal, others like me appear on the outside to be perfectly healthy 99% of the time and can be at times quite active and even somewhat athletic.

Of course, too, each of us is different, so if you don't how to react, just be honest and say so. You can't do much for us to mend the illness, but showing compassion for our feelings can go a long way.

What I'd do in this conversation:

Acknowledge the friend's illness, the difficulties posed by it, and the suckiness of it happening at all. Express your own sorrow and support. Make sure your friend knows you're there if they need anything, or just need to vent, because hey, this sucks.

And then follow up not by dwelling on the fact of illness itself, but by being a good friend: be supportive, be present, be there to talk about and do litttle day-to-day things.

This might not be the right approach for everyone; it's shaped by my experiences. My first partner's biggest complaint (well, besides the debilitating fatal illness --- that was a pretty big complaint, too) was that his illness became the sole subject of conversation for many friends and family. Whether it was a subject they avoided or dragged out, it was all they could see when thry looked at him, because they were terrified of it, of saying the wrong thing, of Not Taking It Seriously.

I think the best thing we did during his illness (and later, during my father's last lingering months) was talk like we always had: we laughed, we told filthy jokes, we talked about literature and music and cats and his overbearing grandmother and shoes and philosophy and his new shirt and everything everything everything, including how much a serious illness sucks.

what really helped my Mom while she was dying was totally ordinary things. She had amazing skin for a 62 year old - so even though no-one else outside of family could see it, I used to stroke her face and say, "you have the softest skin!" and she'd remember times in her youth when someone would say that either in admiration or not and be really, HAPPY. It was a privilage to be part of that.

Elsa said it just right. As Mr. V and I are dealing with his cancer and all the confusion and life changing it brings, it's hard to know what to say much of the time. There are times when he's irritated that people ask how he's doing; other times he's irritated that no one's asked in a long time. I try to listen to the thought of the moment, and be supportive. And it's hard for others to remember that he is fighting for his life, since outwardly he still looks the same (except his hair is white now). So we talk about it when he brings it up, in a matter-of-fact manner, and move on to regular things when he doesn't want to think about it. As long as you acknowledge the fear/concern/thought, without judgement or dismissal, I think it goes a long way.