When there are no words for the pain

Sometimes, when I'm talking with a client or a friend about something traumatic they've experienced, especially loss, they end up sharing the following sentiment:

"People will come over and say so many tactless and awkward things. Or they avoid you, because it's so hard to be in the presence of someone else's pain- especially if there's nothing they can do. And even when they say something relatively cliche or harmless, it can sometimes hit painfully. Even a line as basic as asking: 'How are you?' Sometimes it's ok, but others I'm like: 'How do you think I am? I'm in agony- anyone would be in my situation.'"

What acknowledge that there are so many "wrong things to say" during painful times, and so few "right" things to say. And sometimes there doesn't even seem to a "right thing" at all. And yet, being avoided - either physically or by averted glances, is isolating and hurtful too.

So what are we supposed do when people are hurting from unspeakable wounds?

In this week's Torah portion, the High Priest Aharon endures what is probably one of the most agonizing tragedies: the death of his children. His response- silence. Stillness. He is given tremendous credit for his seemingly super-human stoicism. There's much discussion about this, and a lot of delicate complexity.

There is no one right way to grieve, and no one should be judged in their time of tragedy.

But these stories are meant to be instructive, and one simple message stands out as useful: Sometimes the right thing to say is exactly nothing.

But to still be there.

To still show up.

To look the pain and the person in the eye, and have just your presence say- I know there's nothing good to say right now ("no words" as people often say) but you shouldn't have to go through this alone, so I'm here with you.

One of the laws of visiting mourners during shiva, the first week of mourning, is to go to the house and sit down, but not open conversation until the mourners do. This is to show respect for the family, to give them space to set the  tone, or to not set it, if they prefer. (I should acknowledge that many mourners do find this pressuring as well, and in that case often it's helpful and common to have a close friend or relative available to facilitate the visits.)

I guess what I'm trying to say here is that often things happen that are so tragic that there is nothing to say, but showing up in supportive, reverent quietude is still preferable to fumbling over "the wrong things to say" or to avoiding a person in pain.

If you feel you must express something, one option that seems to be pretty safe is:

"I'm so sorry for your loss/ what you're going through- I don't know exactly what to say or do, but I'm here for you."

Another recommendation that's often suggested is to offer specific favors (rather than a vague, open-ended "let me know if I can help.")

"I'm available to drive a carpool for you on ___ days if that's helpful."

"I'd like to send over dinner on ___day for your family; are there any allergies or food sensitivities?"

This week commemorated Yom HaShoah, and this time period of war is filled with much ongoing national grief. It can be difficult to find words, for ourselves and for one another to offer comfort in sorrow of this magnitude. Sometimes, in absence of language, we can just offer ourselves, our hearts, our souls.

Sending blessings that we hear better news soon, and that life showers you with joyful occasions.

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