When words are insufficient.
Photo taken on a lake in Sweden.
May the magic of verbs move our bodies with silent power and love.
It’s always hard to know what to say to people when they’ve had someone close to them die. I know I’ve fumbled over my words before and a simple “I’m sorry for you loss” seems so insufficient. And rightly so. It’s an unbelievable thing that someone can be here on this earth one day and then not the next. It’s an unbelievable thing that the day they are no longer with you, people are still shopping at Wollies or meeting someone for coffee. It’s an unbelievable thing that they will not see the second season of ‘Foundation’ and will never again sit next to you on the couch or dry the dishes as you wash.
Words were insufficient in the last days I spent with my brother. We had said all there was to say. I’m thankful that over the years, we bothered to say the things that meant something. We named the important things out loud - I love you, I’m glad you’re with me in this, I’m thankful you’re my brother/sister, I admire you, you’ve taught me so much, you can do this, I believe in you. We also said things like, I need you, snap out of it, I’m sorry, you’re being an idiot, I forgive you.
These lives we live, so full of tiny moments that somehow make heavy things light and light things heavy all at the same time. They are the ocean that floats us and sucks us into the deep. Time with our loved ones are all these things - the fullness of tiny moments strung together like bunting around the party of life.
In Andrew’s last week, he no longer had the ability to speak. Despite this, we shared so many special moments; moments without words. They were times of deep listening and looking at each other. All we needed to say was said and now it was just the presence of each other to be felt. The day before he past away, he stared into my eyes so intently. I just looked back at him for what felt like forever, tears welling. He then reached his hand toward my face and gently traced around it as though he was committing it to memory and telling me it would be ok.
It’s the moments of most significance in our lives that leave us speechless.
These moments don’t need words - they are words. The word became flesh. They are tangible weighted realities that you cannot see or touch. They are some of the most real things you’ll ever experience, absent of measurable matter. What a thing to behold. What a thing to be held by.
So, when words are insufficient, may they be just that.
My brother believed in verbs over nouns.
May the magic of verbs move our bodies with silent power and love.
Keep imagining,
Love Amy
