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This is a column I’ve wanted to write for some time to clear the air.

Recently I wrote about my friends Ron and Dianne moving away, about our friendship, about how they stood by my little family through good times and bad. I count them among a very special group of friends who rose up to support my first husband, Will during his dying days suffering from cancer and gave me the courage and emotional sustenance to raise our baby daughter alone, without him.

I can honestly say there is no way I can repay people like Ron, Dianne, Pam, Peter, Adele, Jim, Simon and Alicia and so many others, for their kindness, patience and generosity of their time and compassion. I know these are just names to you, but to me, they represent the ultimate conundrum: how can I adequately thank the people who raised me up in the worst of times? 

In the years since Will’s death, I have learned I can’t.  I can’t thank them enough, honor them sufficiently, and as a result, misunderstandings flared, friendships waned and in some cases, we—my friends and I—are left wondering whether even the strongest friendships can withstand the chaotic imbalance of giving versus getting when a family is in crisis.

The fact is, I received much more than I'll ever be able to give back.  And knowing this left me frustrated and feeling guilty, just as I think it left some of my friends feeling disappointed, hurt, our relationships strained.  

Seven years after Will’s death, I wonder, can this be fixed? 

During Will’s last days, he and I and our newborn daughter, Chloe moved in with my best friend from college and her husband.  They made sure we had food, managed all the communications with CNN and friends, and they made sure Will held a glass of wine to his lips and watched a beautiful sunset each night—even if they had to carry him to a spot to take in the view.  Others held his hand, rubbed his back, held nightly dinner parties and never, ever judged his changing appearance. 

If I’m honest with myself, I must admit that Will was the one who always made the friends. I was the one who made it home from the last breaking story I was covering to eat at the table he and our friends set.  And many of those friends are the friends I loved dearly, still have dreams about, and think about in church when I pray "forgive me for my trespasses.”  Because many of them are no longer part of my life.   

I blame myself.

Will remembered the birthdays, bought the gifts during the Holidays and kept up with everyone's news. After he died, I tried to pick up the mantle of friendship, but as I've said before Will was the Golden Retriever; I was the German shepherd.  I was the worker bee who found it much easier to run off and hide behind covering a war in Kosovo or the test firing of a nuclear missile in North Korea instead of sending a birthday card in a timely fashion.  After a while, it was just easier not to send the card instead of apologizing and then having to explain why their card was always arriving a few days late.   

I think the survivor, the bereaved has a particular burden and responsibility. First, there is the work of grieving and learning to live without the one you’ve lost.  But then comes some of the most emotionally challenging work of all: being someone worthy of helping and becoming someone wise enough to know how to help others in return.

Former CNN anchor, Carol Lin is the mother of one daughter and the co-founder of TulaHealth.  She is a regular ShareWIK.com contributor.  Visit her on the web at CarolLinReporting.com.

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