Character flaw confession time.
I haven't always been the most considerate and compassionate of people.
I'd like to think such shortcomings stem more from inherent awkwardness than awfulness. Still, for someone who makes a living with words, I'm often at a loss for them. Particularly in hard times, or in other words, particularly when it matters.
While I've felt conviction and have made a conscientious effort in the past couple of years to correct what could certainly have been construed as cluelessness and coldness, I've certainly fallen short.
There are hurting friends I've failed to comfort.
There are funerals and memorials I didn't attend.
There are condolences I've failed to communicate, in person or on paper.
There are casseroles I didn't make and care packages that didn't happen.
There are colleagues I've -- cringe -- avoided (physically or with eye contact) so I didn't have to engage in a less than comfortable conversation.
There are times I was so forgetful -- no, so self-focused -- that I neglected to even scribble my name on the collective office sympathy card, the one that someone more nurturing bought, organized the signing of, addressed and stuck the stamp on.
My feeble excuses? I don't know what to say. I'm just no good at this kind of thing. I don't even really know the person all that well. Maybe he'd rather just be left alone. I'd hate to bring it up and upset her (as if she's thinking of anything else). I'll get around to it later (as if I would). I've waited too long to say something, and now it's too late (as if there's a sadness statute of limitations).
So it has moved me greatly to have received sweet cards, beautiful flowers, delicious meals and thoughtful Facebook postings from friends in the three weeks since my mom passed away. And it warmed my heart to receive a bounty of caring correspondence (the most response I've ever received) and supportive phone calls from readers -- most of whom I've never met -- since the tribute I wrote to my mother ran in last week's paper.
You have helped me.
You have humbled me.
As someone blessed not to have experienced much profound loss at this point in my life, you made me realize how meaningful just one personal -- or even Internet or text -- interaction can be to a grieving person.
It doesn't even matter what is said (a few simple possibilities: "Just wanted you to know I'm thinking about you," or "My condolences," or "Hope you're doing OK," or "I've been praying for you," or "Welcome back" or "We missed you," or "Please let me know if you need anything," or the simplest of all, "I'm sorry"). The person mourning will never remember your words -- just your warmth.
It's a lesson that this sometimes wordless writer needed: There is only one wrong thing you can say to someone feeling sorrow.
And that is nothing.
Email:
jchristman@arkansasonline.com
What's in a Dame is a weekly report from the woman 'hood.
Style on 10/21/2014