“‘I can’t imagine how you felt, what that was like.’ I can hardly imagine it either, even having lived through it. Recently, when someone said that, I found myself answering, ‘Like being burned alive.'”
Elaine Pagels, American HistorianW What can possibly be said to a parent grieving the loss of a child? When life is the darkest it can be, how do you navigate wanting to help someone hurting while knowing nothing is going to help?
A few years ago a friend in Toronto asked me what she should say when a close friend of hers had a child die. I guess I was the guy to ask, having gone through such a tragedy. She said she was worried about saying the wrong thing and hurting a friend already in unbearable pain.
This past week in Canada has seen a mountain of that unbearable pain. Eight people were killed in a mass shooting in Tumbler Ridge, B.C., and many others were left injured. The dead included children: three girls, each aged 12, and two boys, 12 and 13.
One of those injured is 12-year-old Maya Gebala. Maya lies in a hospital fighting for her life while her mom shows the world what compassion in the midst of pain looks like.
What can anyone possibly say to those poor parents?
I barely remember anything anyone said, but I do remember what people did and that people cared. It wasn’t so much the words as the gestures. The small acts of kindness from strangers; the people who showed up at a vigil and left flowers and cards and teddy bears. That I remember very well. Looking back, that really is what mattered the most: we weren’t alone.
Even if you can’t find the words, being present makes a difference. Trust me on that; it matters when grieving parents see there are people all around them who care.
A few days after Rehtaeh died, the photographer who took her last high school photo showed up at our door with a whole collection of pictures. He even had one framed for us. I think of that kindness all the time. It mattered to know someone cared.
And there’s a letter with a Saint Christopher medallion, sent from a man in Texas to let me know the story about Rehtaeh touched him very much. His letter also came with the knowledge that there must have been a lot of people who made sure a letter addressed to Glen Canning Re: Rehtaeh, Dartmouth, Canada, managed to find its way to my mailbox on the east coast of Canada.
That mattered. If you don’t have the words, do something that matters, and know small things make a difference. Show up. Write. Care.
There are no words, so just be kind. That’s what I replied when asked in Toronto. You don’t need words to let people know they’re not alone in their sadness.
