"Sitting in Discomfort"

Whilst yet another yuntif/Shabbos morning walk, I contemplated. It has been a pleasant reversal, that for quite some time following Ma's death solitary strolls (babies don't exactly converse) were painful, as my undistracted mind wailed and keened. But it has passed (for now) and I can spend the time simply pondering once again. 

I was thinking about a recent family simcha, and how so many approached me with "assurances" that Ma was present (in spirit, obviously). I did not find these statements to be comforting; for one, I do not personally subscribe to that mentality that the dead are even aware of what the living are doing, that they are "released" at certain times to observe. Even if they were, it does not change the fact that in every way that matters, the dead are no longer present, can no longer be interacted with. 

I was then wondering why others felt the need to tell me this. Then it occurred to me: It all goes back to Brené Brown. Brené speaks of "sitting in discomfort," and how difficult that can be for many. 

It is uncomfortable to see a potentially still-grieving family by a simcha, so let's fix it!  

So they say, "Don't be sad, she's here!" But she's not here. And I'll be as sad as I like.

This mentality falls into other awkward social interactions. 

Sitting at a table with an older single? Uncomfortable! How to fix this? Let's roll out the blame game/unhelpful comments! "Did you consider maybe you're being too picky?" or "I would set you up but I don't know anyone for you!" 

Meet a couple who are childless? Uncomfortable! How to fix this? Let's roll out the blame game/unhelpful comments! "Why don't you just adopt?" or "You still have plenty of time!" 

There are many situations in life when one does not know what to say. It is AWKWARD. So we desperately try to fill the air with chatter, trying to assuage our own discomfort, but in the process we do not realize we are uttering painful things.  

I am a work in progress. I am guilty of doing the same, because my mind couldn't work fast enough to figure out that silence would just be better than saying the wrong thing. 

When we were sitting shiva, a Korean man who rents an office near Luke came to be menachem aveil. His English is shaky, and yet perhaps due to his Christian practice and work associates he is very familiar with Judaism. He simply sat next to Luke, his head bowed in prayer, but said nothing. The two sat in companionable silence, sharing a moment, and then he raised his head, smiled, and left. Luke found it to be one of the most comforting interactions during that week. 

Sometimes silence is better than speech.