When I was young and had more faith in words, I was offended
by the common response to death. I’m...
When I was young and had more faith in words, I was offended
by the common response to death. I’m so
sorry for your loss.
Meaningless, I thought. Empty and useless. Better to say
nothing than to say such hollow, over-used nothing words. I’m so sorry for your loss. Like dripping sweat on a forest fire.
Like brushing dust off the surface of a desk.
I believed there had to be a better way to say it, different
words to use, and I rejected ever saying I’m
so sorry to anyone who’d lost someone they’d loved. I believed it would
actually make it worse. I thought maybe there was a way of describing the
person, or sharing a memory, or nodding at the incomprehensibility of time and
endings. I thought some collection of words – specific and rightly weighted – could
match the magnitude, the incomparable magnitude, of death. I thought it was a
matter of finding the right words to cast the right spell.
No one I’d really loved had died. I hadn’t lost anyone I
loved.
Now I know: I’m so
sorry for your loss is less about the words, and more an acknowledgement
that there aren’t any. It’s a way of saying: there aren’t words so I use these
to tell you that my heart is with your heart. It’s a way of saying: someone no
longer existing doesn’t feel like a fact, even though you know it is one. It’s
a way of saying: I recognize the pain you’re in.
(I think most people understand this earlier than I did.)
Earlier this winter, I had for the first time the experience of loss and the experience of people reacting to the losses in a way to bring comfort. Two that helped: I was at work, digging in a basement, having found out a second mother to me had died, this, not two weeks after my grandmother. I had tears on my cheeks and the dust mask hid the snot pouring out my nose. R., who M. and I work with now and then, had heard the news and knew that I was sad. He arrived in the basement and he said nothing and he came over and wrapped his arms around me. This was a good response. Another, in words, from a woman who I’m glad to be in touch with: “This must be a very sad time for you.” Yes, it was, and thank you for understanding that and, with those words, allowing for it to be. It made me wonder what people find useful, offensive, calming, comforting, angering, what words, what gestures.
For a moment I was saddened by the knowledge that words
aren’t as powerful as I’d thought them to be, that they aren’t as magic. It
also feels like an important thing to finally know, one of the most important things of all.
