Prefer to watch instead?
I’ve also shared this week’s reflection in a short video. If you’d rather listen than read, you can watch it below.
A little over a week ago, I stood beside Emily as we greeted family and friends who had come to pay their respects following the unexpected death of her son, Alex.
There were a lot of conversations that day, along with some wonderful stories about Alex. There were tears, of course, but there was laughter, too. It meant a great deal to see how many people came to be there for Emily and our family. But some of the encounters that have stayed with me most were the ones where hardly anything was said.
People would come up with tears in their eyes, offer a gentle hug or put a hand on a shoulder, and simply look at us. There was something about those expressions, those knowing glances, that said more than words could have. Nobody needed to explain anything.
There were also a few moments when people, clearly wanting to help, offered advice. I don’t question their intentions, but some of it felt ill-timed to me. Standing in a receiving line at a visitation just doesn’t seem like the place to be telling someone what they should be doing or how they ought to be handling what they’re feeling.
That contrast brought me back to something I was introduced to a few years ago through my exploration of Buddhism. There’s a principle called wise speech that I’ve come to appreciate. It’s about paying attention to what we say and asking ourselves a few questions before speaking. Is it true? Is it kind? Is it necessary? And is this the right time to say it?
I’ve generally thought about wise speech in terms of choosing my words carefully. But lately, I’ve been thinking there’s another side to it. Sometimes it’s about recognizing when words aren’t needed at all.
When someone we love is hurting, I think it’s pretty natural to want to make things better. We look for something reassuring to say, some perspective to offer, or maybe a suggestion that might help. I’ve certainly felt that pull these past couple of weeks. Watching Emily go through the pain of losing her son, there’s nothing I would like more than to somehow make that pain go away. But I can’t, and that’s been a difficult thing to accept.
I recently heard someone who had lost a child describe grief as a heavy backpack placed on their shoulders. Over time, they said, the weight may become easier to carry, but the backpack never really goes away. That image has stayed with me. When we see someone we love carrying something so heavy, of course we want to take it off their shoulders. But there are some things we simply can’t take away from another person, no matter how badly we want to.
I’m learning that I don’t always have to find just the right thing to say. Sometimes I can listen, sit beside someone, or let them talk about what they’re feeling without trying to change it. That doesn’t mean I’m doing nothing. It means I’m not trying to fix something that isn’t mine to fix.
And this goes well beyond grief. How often does someone tell us about a problem they’re having, and before they’ve even finished talking, we’re already thinking about what we’re going to say? We have a suggestion, an opinion, or a story about something similar that happened to us. We genuinely want to help, but I wonder how often we stop to consider whether the other person is actually asking for our advice.
I think I’ve gotten better at recognizing that difference over the years. Maybe some of that comes with age and experience. I know there was a time when I was much quicker to offer advice, even when nobody had asked for it. I’ve come to appreciate the power of listening, and I’ve learned that being helpful doesn’t always mean having something to say. I still have to remind myself of that from time to time.
And I keep coming back to those people in the receiving line. The ones with moist eyes, the gentle hugs, and the knowing glances. They weren’t trying to make anything better. They were simply there, and somehow that was enough.
Maybe that’s something worth remembering the next time someone comes to us with something difficult. Before we jump in with our thoughts, suggestions, or advice, we might ask ourselves whether we really need to say anything at all. Because sometimes, just letting someone know we’re there, that we care, and that we’re willing to listen is a pretty meaningful thing to offer.
And if this reflection brought someone to mind, please feel free to share it with them.
