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.