Exquisite Pain

Thank you for all of the supportive comments following my post about "What You Can Do to Help a Grieving Family." As I said, I am learning from YOU, not the other way around. I am certainly no expert on helping people, as I often give in to awkwardness, helplessness, and/or lethargy instead of reaching out.

Just this week, for instance, a card I sent to a mom in our town who recently lost her son got bounced back to me because of an insufficient address. I don't know if she is receiving the kind of support we are. I doubt it. I want to tend to her, comfort her, grieve with her, but I'm showing my suck-tastic colors by not doing it as week after week passes.

I want to share a note from a reader about the difficulty of reaching out to grieving people. It may be the most beautifully written, spot-on statement I've read. So even though the incredible writing may intimidate and humble me to such a degree that I'll never type another word here, I still want to share it with you today:


"Grief, for those standing at a distance, seems too sacred to approach with common hands, and comfort a priestly duty. Consoling is utterly impossible, and surely a job for some expert who knows the flavor of agony, or some close family member who has a right to speak.

That is how the outsider feels; but grief is a lowly, deep, and violent wound, and the pain so exquisite that every kindness has the potential to be, not consolation for such loss, but perhaps a cushion against the writhing.

I'm so sorry. I wish there was more.

Thanks for what you teach, what you share."

WOW.