“We’ll watch the soccer game with you and then afterward we’ll go out to dinner with our husb…” Her words stopped short. We felt their weight as soon as the sound escaped her lips. And awkward silence filled the car.
Husbands. She was going to say, husbands. We all knew it; we heard it coming. Except, her husband wasn’t here any longer. She had been widowed for a few months now and was still adjusting to her new role. Alone.
The discomfort was palpable.
What do you say when you don’t know what to say?
Do you avert your eyes and look away? Pretend you really didn’t know what was coming next? Do you give an easy out and change the subject, interject with a quick life preserver that numbs the awkward for everyone involved?
I couldn’t pretend I didn’t see that momentary flash of recognition and pain in her eyes, her own surprise at the still raw wounds she is learning to guard so carefully.
Sure I could ignore it, but the hurting aren’t afforded that opportunity. They don’t get to pretend any of it away.
And so I leaned in gently, carefully, and said, “Sometimes the words still fall out that way, don’t they?”
Ten years ago I went through one of the toughest years of my life. Through a difficult pregnancy we said hello and good-bye to our firstborn daughter all in the same moment.
There are no words for some of life’s toughest trials. When people around us go through hard things – divorce and loss, rejection and grief – the pain is real and words feel awkward.
But what if bearing one another’s burdens is seeing just as much as doing. What if it’s not looking away from the pain, not covering it up, but holding someone’s hand in the messy, even when words fail you.
That is brave, friends. And I’m writing about it, Braving the Broken, for Club 31 Women today. I’d love for you to join me.
