Dear Ferret Folks-

I spoke early, I read early. Words are something that I have always
been comfortable with. At my best, I use them to make people laugh.
At my worst, I have used them as weapons to wound. Sometimes, I have
been faced with another's pain and my instinct is to use those words
to comfort. That urge to offer comfort is very powerful in us, very
powerful, and sometimes it dwarfs our ability to *actually* offer
comfort. Have you ever found yourself standing in line at a funeral
parlor, holding the hand of someone who just lost a spouse, a sibling,
a child...and you desperately want to say *something* that will make
the loss more bearable, that will make the world seem more sensible,
less cruel and random...but all you can do is say is some awkward thing
that is just barely less than embarrassing? Or perhaps something that
actually crosses the line into embarrassing and trite and time-worn?

God never gives us any burden heavier than we can carry.

God never closes a door without opening a window.

I'm not saying that there isn't great wisdom in these words, but I
promise you that to the person whose child is lying in a casket ten
feet away, these little platitudes make them bite back a scream behind
their teeth. The time to say these things to the bereaved is not when
the floral arrangements are still sweetly fresh, and the rose petals
are still soft and velvety under your hands when you touch them. And
red, and white, and yellow, and part of you wants to hold them up
against your cheek.I have this on good authority from a friend's
mother. She lost two adult children to cancer last year, six weeks
apart. We stood together in the line at the funeral parlor, I held her
hand, and I told her that she had my permission to whack the hell out
of anyone who said either of those two phrases to her. Just let 'em
have it with her cane. She thought it was a grand idea. I did not stay
very long, so I do not know if she actually did it or not, but it was
the only time I saw her laugh that day.

Two friends of mine lost ferrets this week. And I have nothing to say
to them that came from the front of a Hallmark card. No awkward bit of
advice that I found cross-stitched on a pillow somewhere. I am content
to let them grieve at their own paces. It is what I would want for
myself. My friend's mother taught me an awful lot about loss that I
had not known before. Some lessons don't come cheap.

Alexandra in MA

[Posted in FML 7420]