Where do your doubts and fears of saying the wrong thing leave me?

Dear Friend, Neighbor, and Coworker,

I recently lost my father. After battling coronavirus for a few months, his body lost the fight. Those months while he was in the hospital were filled with your support. You texted, called, and emailed, asking for my father’s full name and telling me the mitzvos you took on as a zechus for his recovery. You sent gifts and dinners when visits weren’t allowed, and you constantly asked how we were coping in those trying times.

Then he passed away. Shivah was a blur of (socially distanced) visits and calls. You listened to me as I told stories about my father, and you shared what you knew about him. I felt blessed to have friends and family who cared so much, and I knew that although there would be tough moments ahead, your support would help me get through them.

Then shivah was over. These days, when we meet, you greet me cautiously, but you don’t mention the loss. You call and text, like you did in the olden days before the world turned upside down, but you talk about mundane topics, when all that’s on my mind is my father and how he’s not here to share those mundane moments with me anymore.

Some of you ask how my mother is doing, but that’s the closest you allow yourselves to get to the topic that’s at the forefront of both of our minds.

I know you mean well. Perhaps you don’t know if I feel comfortable talking about my loss. Perhaps you don’t feel close enough to bring it up and assume I have closer friends who are supporting me during this sad and painful time.

Death is a topic many of us don’t like to face, and perhaps you’re not sure if that has changed for me, even though I’ve had to face the death of a parent.

But where do your doubts and fears of saying the wrong thing leave me? During this time, when I need your support most, do I have to be the one to raise the topic? Do I have to remind you when we meet that I lost my father and start speaking about how difficult times are for me now?

I know that the answer might be yes. You’re not sure what I want or need from you, so you choose to be safe and avoid any conversation that might hurt me. You figure that it’s better not to bring up anything unless I do so first.

But I’m here to tell you that your silence hurts. As I go through the grieving process, what I want most is to hear that you care. You may not be able to take away the pain, but you can tell me that you haven’t forgotten that it’s there. You can let me know that although the world is slowly returning to normal, you remember that I and my family are adjusting to a different “normal” than we ever knew.

You’re human and I know you might make mistakes, but I’d rather a messy acknowledgment of my loss over a neat sidestepping of any conversation related to it.

So I ask you, dear friend, when we meet next, can you break the silence and be the voice of compassion I’m waiting to hear?

I know you’re trying to do the right thing, and I thank you for being willing to learn, along with me, what it is I need.

Sincerely,

Your Friend, Neighbor, and Coworker

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 726)