He had finished the basement of our suburban bungalow himself, and when we were teenagers, one of my sisters and I shared a bedroom down there.
The room was dark, quiet and large enough for two beds and the old livingroom sofa. The evening I had broken up with my long-time high-school boyfriend, I retreated to that room, curled up on the sofa, and cried my heart out.
I was surprised when my father, who never really interfered with his teenaged daughters' dramas, knocked on the door and entered the room with a cool drink. He handed it to me, stood there awkwardly, and then finally said, "I'm sorry for your troubles. But a broken heart is one thing I can't fix."
When someone close to us has a problem, out of concern and compassion we want to help them "fix" things--we offer advice, try to convince them of the "best" solution, tell them what they should do. But problems of the heart can't be fixed with band-aid solutions or platitudes like "time is the best healer."
It's often best just to let a troubled person know you care about them, you're there for them, and you're always ready to listen. Just listen.
I was reading one of those Chicken Soup anthologies of stories for "Moms" when I came across one with this message: When your children are troubled, close your lips and open your arms.
I have found this to be very good advice.