“My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family in this time of loss,” is what I said.
Moments later, if not while uttering those words, their well-intentioned but hollow and generic nature seeped into my consciousness.
Mark Leibovich, in a New York Times Magazine article, titled “So Sorry,” addresses the platitudinous use of the phrase “thoughts and prayers.” I had questioned the use of that particular phrase, and others like it, before discovering his well-researched and written essay, which helped me revisit my own reliance on euphemisms—toned down words or phrases that are substituted for the bluntness of more direct ones: “passed” or “time of loss” when I mean “died.”
Finding words that accurately convey the feelings of sympathy and condolence can be difficult, but here’s a sentence that’s more consistent with my sentiment than the opening line of this post: “I am thinking about you and your family, and offering prayers of healing and comfort for all of you as you mourn your father’s death.” The first sentence is generic, and lacks the intimacy and active engagement of the second one.
Too often we fall back on clichés to soften painful realities—moments of suffering and anguish. Listening to my own and others’ feelings is important, and if lessening the brutality of a harsh reality is warranted so be it. (For example, despite its accuracy, is there any reason to actually say: “I’m terribly sorry your daughter was killed in the car crash?”) The focus, in any case, should be on their suffering and helping to lessen it than to recall the reason for it, unless they wish to recount events, which can also have a healing effect. Likewise, being protected in times of adversity makes sense, and using expressions in line with that sensibility demonstrate kindness, caring, and love.
I enjoy words, composed phrases of them, and their usage. Reading, writing, and speaking, employing the linguistic forms as vehicles, brings me in touch with the feelings and thoughts they communicate. That said, I also know when I use them flippantly or with a callousness that is mindless and perfunctory—lacking genuine affect.
“I feel your pain” may have been a ‘90’s phrase offering consolation (Mark Leibovich attributes its popularity to Bill Clinton), but it seems to be a hackneyed, if not trivializing statement of identification with the listener’s lament or despair. I recall an occasion when I spoke those words to a friend who was suffering. As I offered them my lips parted in a not-too-disguised wrinkle of a smile. My friend responded to the facial expression rather than my thought. “Why are you smiling?” he asked.
“Because as I was speaking I realized the emptiness of my words,” I replied. And then I responded to him with words that reflected the sentiment I felt for him—love, and a recognition of the awfulness he was experiencing.
A phrase that has defined a Winter Term course I’ve taught at Middlebury College—“our electronic devices make the distant close, but the close distant”—applies equally well to shallow expressions of feeling. Their expression implies a closeness, perhaps a kinship of feeling, but rather, in truth, creates distance by their reflexive and generic use.
Words are powerful tools, and the feelings that evoke them can be compelling. When we react in horror, disbelief, and intense anguish to the occurrence of an event—mass killings, death of a loved one, a terrorist attack—finding the words to adequately describe the feelings and our connection(s) to what created them can be difficult.
Recently I attended a showing of the film, The Martian, and during the final scenes director, Ridley Scott, depicted a global outpouring of joyous sentiment that appeared to me, as a viewer, to be the authentic expression of feelings—the opposite of feelings the film had stirred in me moments before—anxiety, fear.
As I left the theater, the stirrings of those emotions brought to mind Mark Leibovich’s essay, and my own temptations to use words that distance and protect me from my own feelings as well as those of others.
I can’t feel others’ pain, but I do feel empathy for them. I do think about and actively pray for those I know, as well as many I read about who suffer. I think and feel my way, sometimes not without struggle, into speaking and writing words that convey the truth of my thoughts and feelings, and when I catch myself in the hollowness of generic expressions—I try to dig deeper.
by 
Roger – I enjoyed this post – you are so on point that people hide behind the trite (and impersonal) phrases rather than confront the realities of loss, grief, sadness and mourning. It’s always been my personal pet peeve that people use all these euphemisms rather than just state the truth.
Thanks, Sue. I agree. That said, and knowing that words are a means of conveying our thoughts and feelings, we as listeners may miss the intent of the speaker because our prejudice against euphemisms blinds us to the heartfelt intent–mea culpa. Listening well is an art, and for me, an ongoing learning experience–Roger
Roger, you have really hit the nail on the head with this one. Having lost my father at a very young age, I became aware early on how awkward people feel in general about death and how to communicate their sympathy. I didn’t want to talk about it because none of my friends could or would.
I also especially liked the phrase about what our electronic devices are doing to us. It’s interesting to think of this when thinking about the movie on Steve Jobs (great acting and very interesting depiction of Jobs.)His genius was undeniable but the way he treated people was abysmal. The double edged sword of our dependence on e-mail, texting, etc. We can know many more people (the good news) but the intimacy level of a personal phone call or one-on-one encounter seems to be going the way of the dinosaurs.
Thank you for commenting, Kathleen. Though I’m old I don’t remember the dinosaurs, pictures of them were fascinating to me as a child. Thousands of years from now, millions maybe, when a facsimile of The La Brea Tar Pits reveals an iPhone 6 I wonder how the discoverers will discuss their find–conversation, telepathy, or a means beyond the most creative 2015 imagination? Wherever I am at that time I hope to read about it–but will there be newsprint? In spite of a creative imagination I am limited by my experience. “…what our electronic devices are doing to us.” is your phrase. What if we re-arrange that to “what we are doing to ourselves through our use and attachment to electronic devices?”
Roger
A friend of mine wrote the following in response to the post–“…when confronting someone who is in deep pain [suffering through]the loss of a loved one–after a warm hug,[I’d]look them in the eye and say something to the effect,’I can’t find words that make sense at this moment.'”
Beautifully said–thank you, Roger
Thank you, Roger, for another great thought provoking post. I have also given some thought as to what to say to grieving loved ones. I lost my mom and dad just three months apart and was paralyzed with grief. I received a lot of cards in the mail but I don’t remember getting them nor do I remember who sent them. I actually found it most comforting to hear the simple phrase, “I’m sorry for your loss”. In fact, I remember how surprised I felt at just how comforting those words were, and took note. I didn’t need to hear more. It was enough. My feelings were validated and, anyway, I wasn’t in the mood to talk. So when I think it might be sounding trite as I express the same, I think about how it felt to hear those words when it most mattered in my life, and I say them with meaning.
Jo Anne, Thank you for writing this personal vignette. Freud wrote about how those who die never fully depart from us–we hold them inside. Comforting words like “I’m sorry for your loss” can become part of that internal and special legacy–they are enough, and when delivered in heartfelt and palpable ways, find root in our souls. Roger
Roger, Your words remind me to dig deeper into my own feelings when I respond to others at times of loss. I sometimes justify my shallow expressions by thinking no words can truly express my thoughts. However, this does not excuse me from doing my best to seek out more genuine expressions rather than falling back on euphemisms.
Margie, we all search for the special words that will accurately convey our genuine feelings–including the inadequacy we experience in the presence of another’s suffering. Thank you for finding these words, and commenting. Roger
Your thoughts and words speak to the importance of truly being present with heartfelt honesty for those we love. Thank you for sharing this piece. As the Universe works, it has helped me process a current sad and painful personal situation and reminded me of a minister’s counsel in a sermon about the value of simply bearing witness to the dark suffering of another.
Colette,
I’m glad this piece found current relevance for you, and the minister’s words are wise. There have been times, for me, when bearing such witness has seemed more than I was able to take on, and a perfunctory response to the suffering of the other was my way of “escaping.” Thank you for your comments, and bear witness well, as I’m sure you will. Roger
Any insight into how to comfort someone’s sadness is appreciated and this post is a keeper. I find myself in these situations more frequently and grope for the right words to convey my sympathies. I’ve also been on the receiving end of sorrow, especially with my mother at an early age. Awkwardness is easy to spot and I sympathize with people who may not say the right thing but express their love by just being there. Beautifully written.
Thank you for commenting, and sharing your own experience of sorrow. Awkwardness is easy to spot, and as you point out, silent awkwardness bears witness–sympathy and empathy don’t require words. Roger
Thank you for acknowledging the importance of empathy in times of loss. I could not agree more that it is important to “dig deeper” when faced with the trite euphemisms we use to express sympathy. That said, in my experience those euphemisms can be helpful precisely because they distance ourselves and those in mourning from the immediacy of their pain. For example, on the birthday of my dear friend’s recently deceased father, she was being particularly quiet. I could tell she was trying not to cry in front of our peers, so I took her outside, let her cry on my shoulder, and listed every platitude I could think of, including, “He’s smiling down on you right now,” and ,”He’s so proud of you.” Those phrases certainly did not help me access my friend’s pain and empathize with her over her loss, but they served their immediate purpose, as she was able to momentarily distance herself from the terrible pain she was experiencing enough to go along with her day. Thanks again, and all the best!
Teresa,
Words are wonderful vehicles through which we can express ourselves even when the euphemisms are what come to mind–it is the thought and genuine feeling behind and carried by them that get communicated. Physical presence, with or without words, can also have the impact much as your presence did with your dear friend. Thank you for sharing this with us.
Roger
I have always found the words “I am sorry for your loss” rather hollow. They don’t mean much in the context of the moment.
Carroll,
I agree with you, and thank you for reading the post. There are times when that which is “hollow” to me may be meaningful to another. I think that if the speaker means and feels empathy the recipient of the condolence will get the intent. Much can be read from our facial expressions as well as from the look in our eyes.
Roger