 |
| In its early stages: Cute. |
My friend explained it this
way. The visitor had nearly exhausted her. Pancreatic cancer left her with
significantly less stamina than the hour-long visit had required, even though the
conversation was primarily a monologue as the visitor related a litany of her
own difficulties in the areas of health, relationships, and finances. “At least
she knew not to ask, ‘How are you?’” my friend said.
But when I offered my regrets
that she had been subjected to all that, my dying friend stunned me. “It was
nice to have someone come to visit me.”
In light of that, and some
comments on the last two posts, let me reiterate a point or two. First, those
things on the list of what not to say? They’re things that have really been
said. (I’ve said some myself.) I share them frequently, to dispell your fear of
saying the wrong thing. You will, of course. But that no matter how badly you
stumble, others have said far worse…and survived.
 |
| As it progresses: Awkward. |
A second restatement, from
the first of these three posts, is that questions (Other than, “How are you?”)
are better than statements. But even questions are often unnecessary. The
bereaved and dying are often longing for someone to sit quietly and listen. Let
them know you’re really there (and not looking for the first opportunity to run
from the room), prompt them with a question or two if necessary, and listen.
“Bearing silent witness to their suffering,” said a friend, “is sometimes all
you can do. But it’s often everything they need.” To simply know that someone
knows something of our pain can mean more than all the words of all the
philosophers, theologians, and Helen Steiner Rice wannabees combined.
Understand, though, that one
of the elements of grief is Anger. There are times when the outrage of disease,
disability, and imminent death results in lashing out at even those closest to
us, even our primary caregivers. Even in those moments, however, the importance
of presence still overcomes ridiculously inept statements. And that’s not just
because the bereaved and dying are desperate for company.
 |
| Ultimately: Incurable. |
I was the one in the hospital
bed. Widespread systems failures from an unknown cause left me attached to (and
invaded by) most of the kinds of tubes and wires owned by Castleview
Hospital in Price, Utah. I was conscious, and not terribly glad
to be. No one from the congregation I served came to visit. My ministry
supervisor, though, had called to assure me that the district office was
praying for me. Still, I was feeling a bit desperate for company. But when a
local ministry colleague arrived, he didn’t speak at first, clearly aghast at
the sight. His eventual question was “How are you?” I managed not to respond
verbally. (And it wouldn’t have been “Fine, and you?”)
But I was glad he came to
visit. Admittedly, I was desperate for someone who was there to see me, rather
than merely the charts, monitors, and reports in which my life had become
enmeshed. So, despite incredulity at his question, I realized that I’d asked
the same question just as inappropriately. I vowed there and then to try to
stop.
And so the list was born.
It’s up to “Fifty Things Not To Say
to the Bereaved.” There will be more. I will keep showing up, listening, asking
questions as necessary, and occasionally opening my mouth only to shock myself
at how the sincerity of my heart can result in such stupidity in my words.
I hope not to presume too
much upon it, but I do thank God for the graciousness of the bereaved. So far,
none of them have thrown me out. And so I go, and listen, and ask questions as
necessary, and pray that you find the courage to do the same.
