11. The Importance of Just Being There

"What's the most important thing you have done in your life?" Have you ever thought about this question? How would you answer it? Read the article and see what the author's answer is.

"What's the most important thing you've done in your life?" The question was put to me during a presentation I gave to a group of lawyers.

The answer came to me in an instant. It's not the one I gave, because the setting wasn't right. As a lawyer in the entertainment industry, I knew the audience wanted to hear some amusing stories about my work with well-known persons. But here's the true answer, the one that leapt from the recesses of memory.

The most important thing I've ever done occurred on October 8, 1990. It was my mother's 65th birthday, and I was back home for a family celebration. I began the day playing tennis with a secondary-school friend I hadn't seen for a while. Between points we talked about what had been happening in each other's lives. He and his wife had just had a baby boy, who was keeping them up at night.

While we were playing, a car came screaming up the road toward the courts. It was my friend's father, who shouted to my buddy that his baby had stopped breathing and was being rushed to the hospital. In a flash my friend was in the car and gone, disappearing in a cloud of dust.

For a moment I just stood there, paralyzed. Then I tried to figure out what I should do. Follow my friend to the hospital? There was nothing I could accomplish there, I convinced myself. My friend's son was in the care of doctors and nurses, and nothing I could do or say would affect the outcome. Be there for moral support? Well, maybe. But my friend and his wife both had large families, and I knew they'd be surrounded by relatives who would provide more than enough comfort and support, whatever happened. All I could do at the hospital, I decided, was get in the way. Also, I had planned a full day with my family, who were waiting for me to get home. So I decided to head back to my folks' house and check in with my friend later.

As I started my rental car, I realized that my friend had left his truck and keys at the courts. I now faced another problem. I couldn't leave the keys in the truck. But if I locked the truck and took the keys, what would I do with them? I could leave them at his house, but with no paper on me to leave a note, how would he know I had done that? Reluctantly I decided to swing by the hospital and give him the keys.

When I arrived, I was directed to a room where my friend and his wife were waiting. As I had thought, the room was filled with family members silently watching my friend comfort his wife. I slipped in and stood by the door, trying to decide what to do next. Soon a doctor appeared. He approached my friend and his wife, and in a quiet voice told them that their son had died, the victim of sudden infant death syndrome.

For what seemed an eternity the two held each other and cried, unaware of the rest of us standing around in pained, stunned silence. After they had calmed themselves, the doctor suggested they might want to spend a few moments with their son.

My friend and his wife stood up and walked numbly past their family. When they reached the door, my friend's wife saw me standing in the corner. She came over and hugged me and started to cry. My friend hugged me, too, and said, "Thanks for being here."

For the rest of that morning, I sat in the emergency room of that hospital and watched my friend and his wife hold the body of their infant son, and say good-bye.

It's the most important thing I have ever done.

The experience taught me three lessons.

First: The most important thing I've ever done happened when I was completely helpless. None of the things I had learned in university, in three years of law school or in six years of legal practice were of any use in that situation. Something terrible was happening to people I cared about, and I was powerless to change the outcome. All I could do was stand by and watch it happen. And yet it was critical that I do just that—just be there when someone needed me.

Second: The most important thing I've ever done almost didn't happen because of things I had learned in classrooms and professional life. Law school taught me how to take a set of facts, break them down and organize them—then evaluate that information dispassionately. These skills are critical for lawyers. When people come to us for help, they're often stressed out and depend on a lawyer to think logically. But while learning to think, I almost forgot how to feel. Today I have no doubt that I should have leapt into my car without hesitation and followed my friend to the hospital.

Third: I was reminded that life can change in an instant. Intellectually we all know this—but we think the bad things, at least, will happen to someone else. So we make our plans and see the future stretching out in front of us as real as if it has already happened. But while looking to tomorrow, we may forget to notice all the todays slipping by. And we may forget that a job layoff, a serious illness, an encounter with a drunk driver or other events can alter that future in the blink of an eye.

Sometimes it takes a tragedy to regain perspective on your own life. From that one experience I learned that the most important thing in life isn't the money you make, the status you attain or the honors you achieve. The most important thing in life is the kids' team you coach or the poem you write—or the time when you're just somebody's friend.

From Reader's Digest, April, 1996.