Rev. Phil Pinckard on a grief with no name

“Beyond Words”

In My Fair Lady, Professor Henry Higgins wagers fellow linguist Colonel Pickering that he [Higgins] can teach Eliza Doolittle, a flower girl from Covent Garden, to speak properly enough to pass her off as a member of London’s elite society. Eliza learns that “the rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain…” but eventually becomes frustrated with the faultiness of words. In the second act Eliza laments “Words, words, words, I’m so sick of words….”

With about 450,000 commonly used words in the English language, we should be able to communicate adequately. But there seem to be experiences, feelings, longings, and heartaches that are beyond words. And there are common phrases that hurt more than help. Reflecting on the death of our son Mark, I’ve concluded that child-loss and sibling-loss is a grief with no name. Spouses whose partners die become widows or widowers; children whose parents die become orphans. But what do we who have lost children, whatever their age, call ourselves? What do our children – their siblings – call themselves? When asked about our family, my wife Jodie, and I have decided to say that we have two children – a daughter Heather, 27, and a son, Mark, who will forever be 18. If we were to only speak of our living children, our speech would essentially deny Mark’s existence.

But what words do you use when talking to a bereaved parent or sibling? Let me suggest some guidelines. First, acknowledge the loss. In the film Moonlight Mile [2002], Susan Sarandon and Dustin Hoffman play a couple whose daughter is murdered in a coffee shop by a would-be robber. In one scene, Sarandon’s character has been particularly testy. Her husband asks why she has been so upset all day. She replies, “It angers me when they ask about her and it angers me when they don’t! And that’s just the way it is, okay!” Whatever you say, prepare for a response from your grieving friend. It may be a polite thank you or a tearful outburst. Reframe questions. “How are you” may elicit “How do you think I am!” Try instead “What kind of day are you having?” We grieving folks appreciate someone who shows genuine concern. Encourage us to talk about our loved one. Your willingness to listen helps more than you know.

Avoid words that sting. I’m trying to eliminate ‘closure’ from my vocabulary. It suggests that we can put Mark’s death behind us and go on with our lives. True, life goes on. But living with loss is something that grieving folks get through, not over. ‘Acceptance’ stings, too. The death of a child, whether through illness or accident, suddenly or slowly, is not acceptable. Children are not meant to die before their parents. Another stinging word is ‘recovery,’ which suggests a resolution to child-sibling loss. Like a dissonant chord, the silence of an absent child, will never be resolved. In a real sense, there is instead an absence that is relentlessly present.

Acceptance, closure, recovery – are all words that sting. May I suggest words that soothe. Extend a hand, offer a warm embrace – simply say, “I’m sorry.” Don’t say, “I know how you feel” unless you’ve experienced a similar loss. Do pray. “As for me, far be it from me that I should sin against the Lord by failing to pray for you.” [I Samuel 12:23, NIV] Although the grief is beyond words, it is not beyond feelings.

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