Have you ever been tongue-tied at the worst possible moment? Is it when you’re caught off-guard, or in particular situations that trigger tricky emotions?
I know myself to be less than adept at certain types of social interaction. For example, when attending a memorial, I flash to the losses I have experienced, in particular both parents, and I relive palpable grief, and a longing for what never was.
More often than not, emotion wells up through my throat and I must fight back the tears. If I need to speak to the bereaved, all I can do is reach out a hand, offer a hug, and possibly murmur a word or two.
This weekend I attended a service for a friend’s father. I wanted my presence to be felt as support, as compassion, as genuine love.
The service itself was enlightening: Stories were exchanged about a very fine man, and I was filled with sadness for my friend, and regret that I had never known her father. And in addition to those regrets, I was struck by another realization: I haven’t been a very good friend to my friends in recent years.
I used to believe the women in my life had walked away; now I wonder if they believe I did the same.
Though my explanation lies in my own daily challenges, I may never know if these friends consider that I edged away from the relationships I once held so dear. In some instances, they took their distance, and the reasons are clear. In others, the tangle of emotions is more complicated. Perhaps I constructed a sort of barricade – just to make it through each day.
It’s difficult to remain friends through divorce, and possibly more so, through dramatically changing financial circumstances. It’s been difficult for me to ask for help, though some – like the woman I mention here – has always given without asking, and with such purity of spirit I continue to be struck it.
And so, back on point. Listening to the eulogies, I came to understand the sort of parents my friend grew up with, the character model she was given by both mother and father, the rich influence of a dad very much in her life, and the values that made him a philanthropist, a scholar, and a modest man of great standing in his various communities.
I better comprehend why his daughter, my friend, has spent a life in giving, in creating, in learning, in absolute sweetness unlike any individual I’ve ever encountered. She is generous and compassionate, honorable and gentle, with an unexpected combination of worldly wisdom and a child’s capacity for awe.
I watched and listened as she spoke with tenderness and composure, with eloquence and humor. That in itself is a tribute to the man who was her father, and the way he raised his remarkable daughter.
After the service, I searched for the words to express my sympathy, and clung to them in my mind. But when I had a moment with my friend, I choked up, I fought back tears, and syllables refused to form. All I could do was reach out and hug her – and very quietly, say: I love you.
I may never be able to speak the words in situations like this. But I hope my friend sensed my genuine empathy for her loss. And what I will say again – here, if she is reading – is how much I admire her, how much I am grateful for her example of grace in everyday life, how much I will always value her, and love her.
© D. A. Wolf
I am sure she did because you are friends and if not she can read it here.:)
I often fumble for just the right thing to say, especially during occasions like a memorial service. It sounds like you found just the right words for your friend.
I have a hard time speaking such things as you have stated here where writing them flows much more naturally. It is as if my words, when written, flow with greater ease and heart even though they would hold equal sincerity were I to say them.
I do hope that your friend reads your words and I would guess she felt felt your empathy.
In times like that – it’s communication beyond words, I think, that are felt and remembered and offer the most comfort. I’m sure she was touched. And what more powerful words, spoken sincerely, are there than I love you?
It’s often really hard to know what words to say to people at a funeral. I think you say a lot by just turning up at the event of saying good-bye. These occasions are, after all, for the living. I’m sure your friend will understand what you would want her to.
“…all I can do is reach out a hand, offer a hug, and possibly murmur a word or two… I wanted my presence to be felt as support, as compassion, as genuine love.”
This is generally the best that anyone can do. Sometimes you can add “When this is over, if there’s anything I can do, call me” and follow that up with a card that says the same thing. That’s the long-term friend thing that you’re referring to, and where some folks differ from one another.
Fran has never done much to keep track of old friends (this has changed, I believe, since she’s seen what I do), but she is always there whenever anyone asks anything of her, and genuinely can pick up with an old friend that she hasn’t seen in years as if it were only yesterday. That’s an interesting personality dimension, different from what is generally seen on this website where there seems to be considerable worry about old friends and a focus on recurring topics from the past.
We’re back from a big mushroom foray this past weekend. Fran found a rare Amanita that the association had never collected in its three decade history (the experts are still trying to pin down the ID). She has an incredible eye for the present – a gift (and is that why we call it the present?)
I love you says so much. You wrote a beautiful post of how special she is to you and to everyone that is blessed to know her. Your friend will cherish your words and I am certain that your words will give her comfort in this time of sadness.
Your emotion is authentic…so much more than finding the “right” words to say. I have, at times in my life, been good at saying the “right” thing but closing off my emotion in the moment. No more. I love Jesus’ example in the Bible, he mourned with those mourning. And that’s what you did for your friend. God bless you.
You’ve all been so kind. It really is about my friend, and yes, my frustration at not having the words. Maybe it’s enough that we feel each others’ intentions, even if we can’t speak them.
Were I in your friend’s place, what you did would have been more than enough for me.
This post really resonated with me. Those three words you said to your friend are so important. We don’t say it enough.
This past week I lost a friend to cancer and I remember every time I visited her in the hospital and hospice my goodbye would always end with, I love you.