Have you ever been at a loss for words when someone really needs to hear from you? As a parent, I almost gag when I have to speak up and express an opinion; especially if my point of view is opposed to what my children think. Although I want them to listen, I believe in keeping the peace.

 

I also run out of words when my feelings are hurt. I cry instead and so lose the argument. Where are the words when I need them?

 

When faced with the truth, many people I know clam up while others sputter and stammer. They blab, run at the mouth trying to confuse the issue and will say or do anything to avoid a confrontation. I have seen this up close as well as on national television. Haven’t you?

 

Life challenges us and expects us to say something appropriate at the proper time. We call that etiquette, good manners. At a wedding, you congratulate the groom, not the bride. That is simple enough to remember. The atmosphere is so celebratory anyway, that it does not much matter what you say. Everyone is on an all-time high.

 

No words

 

But there are serious, solemn moments, sad ones, in fact, when there really are no words.

 

What do you say to a woman who has lost the man she loved, who was her partner and soul companion for 60 years? How can you convey what your lips cannot utter? Of course you commiserate. You may know her pain and even shed some tears. But what do you say? Are there words that don’t sound empty?

 

All she knows is the loneliness she feels every morning when she wakes up and does not see her beloved. One widow sighed that she would rather have lost her husband to another woman because she would maybe still see him, even only once in a while. (No comment from my chair.)

 

Another one said she would give anything just to hear that rhythmic purr (snore?) right next to her in bed. As annoying as it used to be, it was a part of them, of the precious “you and I,” that unforgettable “us” now gone forever.

 

Owning pain

 

At a recent Bible meeting, I asked our recently bereaved friend what were the words that brought her the most comfort. She said: “There were none.”

 

Not one word that was spoken to her made her hurt less. People said nice things and she was grateful. But nothing seemed to help remove the sting of her loss. What helped was “when someone held me close, or cried with me, or even just held my hand or quietly sat beside me, and said nothing.”

 

“When someone says I know your pain, you almost want to scream, no you don’t,” she added.

 

I suppose it is true what they say; that pain becomes personal, that you feel you own it and nobody else’s can compare.

 

At these unhappy events, we all feel that we must say something significant, important, full of wisdom or even dramatic. But where do you find the words?

 

Heartbreaking

 

I found myself in this predicament very recently at the wake of a young man, barely 27, who one moment was full of the love of life and in the next instant was gone to be one with eternity.

 

Nothing can be more heartbreaking than seeing a young life snuffed out just when it is beginning to shine its brightest. What can you say to his parents?

 

All they saw was the handsome young man in a white coffin. They accompanied friends and family to look at their son, telling them, “He looks like an angel. He was such a good boy, funny, loving, with great plans for the future.”

 

I sat beside his father. I remember Jess when he was just a little boy himself, shortly after he had crossed the pontoon bridge on Nagtahan during the battle for Manila in 1945. His face and arms were completely covered with black specks of gunpowder from a bomb that had exploded next to the shelter he was hiding in, taking the lives of his little sister, grandmother and an aunt. He had shrapnel in the head. His mother Ines Ghezzi was severely wounded.

 

When I saw him at the house of his grandfather Don Juan Cabarrus, he looked bewildered and lost. War and death were completely foreign to him at the time. He was just a kid.

 

His only son

 

But this was too real. This was Yesu his only son. I saw him more than once shaking his head in disbelief. Quietly, he kept a close watch on his wife whose face was the picture of shock and sorrow. Several times he spoke, more to himself I guess than to me: “What happened? I don’t understand it, but it is God’s will and we must move on.”

 

On the last night of the wake, they had a video presentation to celebrate Yesu’s life.

 

Someone gave tribute: “I cannot believe that Yesu is gone. It is a huge loss for his family and friends. But grief is futile. Better let us ask ourselves: Are we doing anything to make this world a better place? Yesu did.”

 

Messages from friends and family all over the world said: “He was genuinely kind; gave without expecting recompense. If there was a new kid in school, Yesu was his instant friend. He lifted up those around him.”

 

One of the main speakers gave testimony: “Tonight I take a step back and see things in a different new perspective. I have gained a new understanding of what life is all about. Time is precious. Make time for your family.”

 

Words of wisdom emerged from the shadows of sadness.

 

Godspeed, Yesu Cabarrus!