Across the table, he was telling me a story that I had lived before. (I wanted to throw up.) The tales were so similar though a bit different: mine had a painful conclusion and his was in progress, and with hope. These were plays with different actors, stages, and consequences. He will be fine. I still struggle sometimes.

Yes, friend, I know: you are not going to make the choices I did. Yes, friend, I know: you are older and wiser than I was and am. Yes, friend, I know: you will be fine. Your compass points to your destination and mine was spinning. It happens. It was a long time ago. So distant, I refrain from reciting it. Instead, it is pushed out of my mind so I may figure out how best to offer support. “Perhaps I can help through quiet listening and presence,” I hoped.

Grace, give me the ability to help others through struggles that I have not yet conquered myself. Let me grow at least enough that I can be there when they need me to be, even if my path meanders and I have not yet found the destination.

(I think I did alright.)