Sometimes it’s really hard to know what to say to people who are grieving. I still struggle, even though I’ve been on the receiving end of it.

But I was remembering something, recently, and it reminded me of something anyone can do.

The day my Mom died, after my sister and I were released from the hospital, we went back to the Miller’s house and pulled all the furniture together and spent the rest of the afternoon sitting like that. We sat there until we all went together to pick up my brother Marcel and his new wife Krista from the airport.

I remember my cousin Ellis coming. If my memory holds up, he was traveling in for the wedding and hadn’t heard anything until he was greeted at the airport by a stranger and informed about what had happened.

Others came and went spending hours trying to find things lost at the accident site or making meals or helping pick up the slack for the wedding still happening in four days and the funeral in three. The generosity and kindness of strangers still blows my mind six years later.

But one man sticks out in my memory. I can’t remember exactly who he was let alone recall his name. He came into Miller’s house and sat down on the couch in our little circle. I was a little afraid at first that I’d have to think of something to say. It’s funny how much work it is to respond to simple gestures of love and kindness during times of mourning.

But this man was different. He didn’t say anything. We kept crying in spurts. Laughing in spurts. Sometimes at the same time. But he just kept on sitting. I want to say he sat there for a good twenty minutes in silence and then he left.

I’m sure he said something to my dad or to one of the Millers. Maybe he even said something to me and I’ve already forgotten. But I’ll never forget his gesture of sitting with us in our grief.

There were others, too, who mourned with us. Some spoke simple but encouraging words to us or traveled halfway across the world to mourn with us in our sorrow. Others fumbled over their words clueless about what to say but desperate to give us something, anything to strengthen us. For these people I am grateful.

Death is unnatural. God didn’t create us with a capacity to really understand it. We can’t wrap our minds around death and sorrow let alone come up with words to make sense of it. So sometimes, the best thing we can offer each other isn’t our words, but our thoughtful, sensitive, ready-to-leave-when-we-need-to presence.

And usually, that’s enough.

It reminds me of a Jason Gray song “Not Right Now”. Lyrics below.

“Not Right Now”

Jason Gray / Love Will Have the Final Word

You could see the smoke from a mile away

And trouble always draws a crowd

They wanna tell me that it’ll be okay

But that’s not what I need right now

Not while my house is burning down

–

I know someday

I know somehow

I’ll be okay

But not right now

Not right now

–

Tell me of the hope that you know is true

Ever feels like a lie even from a friend

When their words are salt in an open wound

And they just can’t seem to understand

That you haven’t even stopped the bleeding yet

–

I know someday

I know somehow

I’ll be okay

But not right now

No, not right now

–

Don’t tell me when I’m grieving

That this happened for a reason

Maybe one day we’ll talk about the dreams that had to die

For new ones to come alive

But not right now

–

While I wait for the smoke to clear

You don’t even have to speak

Just sit with me in the ashes here

And together we can pray for peace

To the one acquainted with our grief

–

I know someday

I know somehow

I’ll be okay

But not right now

Not right now

No, not right now

Love you guys.

C.W.