Two weeks ago, I heard from a friend that a mutual friend (who I had not seen in a while) was in the hospital. Things had been rough but there was a lot of hope for recovery. I made a note to call his wife. Then, as you know, I got busy. Races to run, eggs to cook. Last night I saw my friend again. Our mutual friend is dead, and I still have not called his wife. At this point, a card seems appropriate.
On the local newspaper’s website, I see that a Raleigh man has been killed in a car accident on the morning of his wedding. A car ran a red light and hit the car in which he was a passenger. He was ejected from the car and struck by a third vehicle. The driver of the car which ran the light was my primary care doctor. I know him to be a decent, caring person. He must be devistated. There is no card for this.
I want to be a compassionate person. I want to say the thing which will be of comfort or inspiration. Sometimes the fear of not saying the right thing keeps me from speaking at all. Sometimes I fear my voice will make it worse. But I know that when I have been in times of great distress it was not words that deepened my pain, it was silence.