How can we be most sensitive to people in crisis?

Has something bad happened to you?

Will a carrot cake make it better? How about this lovely chicken casserole?

Many of us, when confronted with the world's woes, want to do something, anything, to help. Someone dies, there's an accident, a mom goes to the hospital. What can we do?

For a lot of us the answer to that question is lasagna.

I grew up in a Midwestern small town. My dad died when I was 18 years old, and his death triggered a parade of food, a virtual litany of scalloped potatoes and apple pie.

It seemed comforting and practical. Out-of-town relatives picked at the potato salad and ham, and the remaining food was used at the funeral reception. The random casserole was stuck in the freezer for later.

In the midst of sorrow the knock at the door, the coffee pot that always needed refilling, gave me something to do. The friends who carried casseroles through the door became gentle sponges, each one soaking up a little more of my grief.

Meanwhile, my younger brothers hated it. They wanted everyone to leave us alone.

As I've grown older, I've become aware that people need and want different things in the midst of personal crisis. How can we be sensitive to those needs?

About 10 years ago our family experienced a sudden health crisis. The outpouring of sympathy and concern was wonderful --- and overwhelming.

My phone never stopped ringing morning to night with inquiries. So many people came to the hospital that we were forced to ban visitors, many of whom came anyway.

Then there was the food. I had no stomach for anything and the kids were picky. What to do with this food?

As I write these words, I feel a measure of guilt. People were showing concern and we were blessed by their friendship. Yet, the experience made me re-evaluate my own response to crisis.

I realize that sometimes when I try to help I am actually fulfilling my own deep need to do something. I stand back and ask: Whose need am I really meeting?

If it's my best friend or close relative, of course I know I need to be there, pronto.

But if it's someone in my larger circle, I try to be sensitive. Are these people being well supported or does it appear they need more help? I drop a card in the mail or at the hospital immediately, assuring them of prayers.

It's helpful if one person can serve as a phone contact, letting others know what is needed by a phone tree or e-mail updates.

Sometimes hospitals provide the family with a status report they can put online, including a spot for people to leave messages. This is a godsend to the harried family and to their concerned friends.

Often, someone will organize meals to be provided for the family for the long haul. Just make sure it's something the family wants and double-check on their food preferences. I have finally learned that randomly dropping lasagna at someone's house is not always helpful.

In my family's crisis, a close circle of friends bought school lunch items -- prepackaged, lunch box stuff that made my life easier and thrilled my kids. This dream group of friends operated through one spokesperson, and even offered to clean my house, if I wanted them to.

When the crisis passes, people are often forgotten and left alone. That may be when they need us most. Maybe they're experiencing loneliness, grief or numbness. Maybe that's the time a gentle phone call or an invitation to coffee might really be needed.

Effie Caldarola is a columnist with Catholic News Service.