I remember my first few weeks back at work, after my son died. I was little less than a walking zombie – crushed and raw. Some well meaning people shoved inane platitudes in my ear hole. They would smile sympathetically and say all the standard crap: “He is in a better place.” “God needed him more than you.” Oh, the biggest lie of all, “Time heals all wounds.” Time heals NOTHING!!! Every one of these trite phrases cut me – wounded me – grieved me more deeply.
Most of the time, I just weakly smiled and walked away. Mostly because it is illegal to slap the stupid out of some people and I lack the magical powers to explode their heads. (Don’t think I didn’t try.)
One person, one truly kind person performed an act of silence. He came into my office and gave me a genuine, sincere look. He stood silently for a moment, then left my office. He paused outside my door, then turned around and came back. He shifted from one foot to the other. As we made eye contact, I could see tears in his eyes. Then, quietly, and ever so gently, he reached over and patted my head. He turned quickly and left.
In that simple pat, I felt more compassion and understanding and genuine empathy from one kind gentleman – than from all the yap flapping well-meaning noise makers. His silence was genuine and deep. His small act, comfort from GOD. I am truly grateful.