Several years ago at a party, a friend began telling me about how his father had died. I sat and listened, wishing I could be anywhere but in that chair; days earlier I'd passed the difficult twentieth anniversary of my own mother's death. My best friend, Ann, stood nearby listening and without saying a word, put her hand on my shoulder. It was a moment I will never forget: the clear nonverbal communication of someone who knows all the bad stuff, all the good stuff, all the history and who not only loves you but understands you in a way that doesn't need exposition. Such friendships may be…