Early Saturday morning, I stood outside the elevator with my new friend Kim.

Kim is an amazing human being with a purity of soul and an honest heart that makes you literally believe that there is hope for mankind.  Yes, she is that nice.

Until Friday, Kim and I had one fairly brief offline interaction, but thanks to BlogHer we were finally able to spend time together this past weekend.

From the moment I met her, Kim was full of life and jokes and laughter.  But, this Saturday morning, she was not.

She was in near tears.  And my heart was breaking for her.

“I don’t think I’m ready… I don’t think I can do this…”

The sudden change in demeanor was prompted by a turn that the conversation had taken about a session that she would be speaking at on Saturday afternoon.

About grief.

See, Kim is a widow, and on Saturday afternoon she was going to talk about that experience in front of an entire room of people that she didn’t know.

I knew this already, and I’m going to admit an embarrassing truth about how I felt when I saw this session in the schedule.

I was thrilled when I saw names I love and recognize (Kim’s and two more blogger’s, Peter and Anissa, who I admire greatly and read) on the panel, but I had no intention of going.

I had no major tragedies with which I have had to cope.

I  had no intent of being “brought down” at an event where I was anticipating growth and positive self development.

This topic had nothing to do with me, I told myself.

I was happy that my friends were going to be able to talk about their grief over things that had happened to them, but this stuff?

No.thank.you.

But Saturday morning, in front of the lobby elevators, Kim was nervous, scared and all kinds of uncomfortable feelings.

I thought, “My friend needs me, this a unique moment where I can make a difference for someone else by simply showing up.”

I promised her I would go, and I would be there for her.  Because that’s what friends do.

So I went… shamefully oblivious to the fact that my “showing up,” while I’m sure it was meaningful for Kim and the other speakers at the session, would prove to be a far greater gift to myself than to my friends.

I went, I sat and listened.

To a woman who talked about how her son died of SIDS and her subsequent suicide attempt.

To another mother who spoke of losing her twins after several years of fertility treatment.

To a couple who talked about how they were handling the tremendous effects of coma/stroke complications in their life.

And to Kim, who talked about losing her husband.

It was awkward, at first.

I cried.  More than a few times.

But, in the end, I learned something important about the human experience, community and even about blogging.

It’s true that we need to keep our eyes on the positive.  Life can get messy and complicated, and keeping happy and fun thoughts at the forefront of your mind can act as a preventative medicine against potential downward spirals of darkness.

Still.  Pain is real.  You can’t avoid it, and pretending it doesn’t exist, certainly doesn’t banish it into oblivion. Most importantly, just because it’s not happening to you, doesn’t make it any less real or inevitable that it could happen to you.

And if we’re talking about death, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you can be assured that it will happen to you.

The medicine that prevents devastation from settling into the human heart to the point where we could potentially self destruct is not avoidance.

It’s embracement.

We must embrace every aspect of our existence as humans.  Even the awkward, uncomfortable moments.  Even the moments that remind us that our happiness simply hangs in the precarious balance of our circumstances.

We are a community.

Not of bloggers, not of women, not of mothers, but of human beings.

Tragedy?  Death?  Illness?

These are among the staples of our existence, they are not occasional occurrences to be marked with a Hallmark card and a bouquet of flowers.  Those things will not make it go away, nothing will.

The only hope we have to lessen the pain of tragedy lies in acknowledgement that these things are constantly happening.  They are an every day reality.  I don’t want to be alone when these things happen to me, so I promise not to let the people who are experiencing them now have to do it alone, either.

Those who would avoid the awkwardness of tears and possible anxiety miss out on this beautiful opportunity to grow.

People get sick.

Children and husbands and wives die.

Telling yourself that it’s all part of God’s plan and sweeping it under the rug is just not enough.

We need each other’s experiences to remind us of what it is to be a real human being.  We need each other’s support to make it through.

Furthermore, there is intrinsic reward in shedding the idea that the only experiences worth sharing are the ones that give us cotton candy feelings in the pit of our stomachs.

We become real.

Real, one who acknowledges and embraces reality with courage and sincerity.

Because of this panel, I know that my realness will be steeped in the firm knowledge that my perception of life is not as I believe life ought to be, but that I truly know what it is.

In other words, I’ve traded the reflection of reality for a bona fide and true reality.

As far as I’m concerned, that’s the most preparation any of us can have for a tragic event that happens in our lives or someone else’s.

It may also be the only kind of preparation we need.