“Was it COVID?”
This question was hurled in a hushed voice at my mother, a wicked curve ball mere days after my dad’s death. This was before I realized that I’d need to block for my mother. Block insensitive and senseless questions.
Too shell-shocked and polite, my mother answered on autopilot.
“No.”
And that should have been the end of it. Then the follow-up question. “What did he have?”
Really? OK. Now I blocked.
“My father was a private man, and we are respecting that–and him.”
That’s my polite version of “what the hell is wrong with you?”
A couple days later, I was absent when someone stopped by to see my mom and asked “Where’s John’s body?”
I was so angry when Mom later shared this encounter with me. She was already lying awake at night, missing her husband of 62 years and wondering, with genuine sorrow and trepidation, where her husband was.
I will admit that when I thought of my missing father, I had to remind myself that it was his body, not him, that was alone in storage. I did not want to picture where his body was or imagine how long he’d be there. His body had made it to the funeral home just before the city shut down ahead of an impending hurricane. During a pandemic lockdown.
Why ask such callous questions of a grieving spouse?
I recognize that people don’t always know what to say. And it is particularly hard these days to comfort the bereaved. The usual gestures are verboten: a long hug, a long conversation huddled on a couch.
I’m reminded of my parents’ admonishment to me as a child: if you can’t think of anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.
That’s my advice now. If you don’t know what to say, don’t say anything.
If you intend to pay your respects, please be respectful.
Wrap your sympathies in silence.
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