Picking up sticks

They just picked up some sticks. That’s all. Hearing the news the day before that their friend lost his father, they talked about what they could do, as friends, to reach out and say they care. Instead of baking a casserole, or composing a heartfelt note, they created their own language of empathy. They went over to their friend’s house while he and the rest of his family were still in upstate New York at the hospital, and picked up sticks in the back yard. The funeral would be in a few days, with the reception at their home, and the friends thought they could at least make the back yard look good. Although the friend cannot remember how the yard looked thirty-eight years ago, he’s never forgotten why there were no sticks.

I was reminded of this incredible gesture while reading Sheryl Sandberg’s new book Option B, which describes the sudden death of her husband and her excruciating encounter with grief. In it, she describes not only the tragedy of loss, but the various ways we must wrestle with sadness, anger, and other overwhelming emotions. She also describes the people who reached out and offered kindness and support, and those who didn’t, the ones who refrained from bringing up the topic (and pretty much disappeared) for fear of upsetting her or her two small children. Although I, like most readers, thought about times I was there for others, and times when I ran and hid, I also thought about the two friends who picked up sticks.

Opportunities to be present in the lives of others abound when they lose loved ones, go through a divorce, lose a job, are publically embarrassed, but we walk past them all too often. Thinking our efforts need to be grand or significant, we put off saying or doing anything at all. Waiting for the time to be right, we wait until the moment is lost. `

From now on, I want to be the kind of person who picks up sticks, picks up the phone, pulls someone aside and says something even if the words aren’t perfect. Comparing my efforts to others, or waiting until I think of something spectacular to do, will only lead me to stand back and miss the moment.

All it takes is a couple of sticks and the willingness to go over and pick them up. Who knows, maybe that will be enough to give the person something to remember forever.