I write. I write a lot. Some of it ends up here, a little over at Candied Pop, and a sprinkling on various boards and blogs. Most of my writing sits in little files that may or may not be opened again but are obsessively backed up and worried about in that back of the head sort of itch. For all that writing, though, I do not think that I am very good with words.
When I string them together it never seems quite right, the meaning feels elusive, that I am only approximating what I truly want to say. So, more often or not, stand motionless, paralyzed because I cannot find a combination of words that wrap up a knot of complex emotions into an easy to understand and sincere package.
One of my oldest and closest friends lost her husband this week to a long battle with cancer. I’m sitting here wanting to cry, feeling that balloon in my chest rising up to my throat but I cannot. I want to cry for her. I want to cry for his children. Nothing comes. The same when I called to offer condolences.
For all my writing and thinking, whgen it came time to offer words of support my throat dried, my eyes burned, and all I could croak out was a feeble, “I am so sorry.” I couldn’t find a way to express myself, to say what I felt. I sat on the other end of the phone biting my lip, cowardly.
Maybe it is just as well that words failed me at that moment. She does not need the additional burden of my grief or anyone else’s, she has enough of her own to carry. Before my silence stretched into a gravity of its own to pull down on the conversation I told her that we love her, that she is a sister to me, and that we would do anything for her, whatever and whenever.
Maybe that was the right thing to say, I don’t know.
i’m sure your support, when needed, will speak for itself.
I think you express yourself quite well. And sometimes, there really are no words that can be used to express the extremely complex emotion of heartache and despair. Sometimes, the best that you can do for a person in that situation is to try to add normality back into their lives. And of course, to let them know that you are there for them.
Thanks for the support, it has been hard to lose a friend and to watch someone I love dearly suffer. I think we might try and do what you suggest, bring some normalcy to life.
i’ll share an experience that approximates your close friend - a woman who was a grade school acquaintance of my wife passed away in her late 30’s. she was married for about three years and had no children. my wife had never met the husband as the childhood days were their last interaction…but chinatown produces a closeness that never falters and my wife and several of her friends were compelled to pay respects.
we attended the visitation. as we made our way thru winter’s cold and dark we learned that she had lost a difficult battle to a brain tumor. her final days were attended by her parents, sisters and husband.
like you, we did not know what to say…and finally meeting the husband made our words inconsequential. never has anyone been so honored as his wife. with simplicity and directness he recounted her struggle and underlined the grace that she displayed. he held her beauty, her charm, her spirit for us to see - not for his grief - but for all to understand he was so blessed to have found her for even the shortest of times.
3 or 4 years have passed and i’ve seen the husband - who like me is caucasian - in chinatown on two occasions…each time he was in church with the family of his beloved wife.
while we’re often confronted with “letting go” - there’s something wonderful and timeless, humbling and affirming about holding on.
Thanks for sharing that story, it is something I have to learn as I spend so much time walking away and not looking back and somethings should be held onto and honored. Thanks again.