I’ve been feeling unwell throughout July, so I’ve spent quite a bit of time in doctors’ waiting rooms. It’s nothing too serious – just a virus and a viral eye infection. But still, once again, I was reminded of the one thing I truly need: health.
Yesterday, while waiting for a medical examination, I was reading a book when I overheard two women in their early seventies. They had gone to school together and hadn’t seen each other in a decade. I wasn’t intentionally listening, but one of them was speaking so loudly that I couldn’t help but hear parts of their conversation.
One of the women had sadly lost her husband three years ago. The other asked her about his illness and how long it had been since he passed. The widow’s voice was filled with sorrow – I could feel that he had meant the world to her.
Immediately, the other woman began offering advice: “You have to be strong. You need to find new activities to fill your days. You must keep busy.”
She then asked how many children and grandchildren she had. (The answer was two and four.)
And with that, she concluded: “Oh, that’s good. That means you’re busy.”
But who knows? Her children may live far away, busy with their own lives, while she sits alone with her grief.
It made me think about the profound lessons infertility, suffering, and countless thoughtless comments have taught me over the years.
That sometimes, the most precious thing you can say is simply:
“I’m so sorry for your loss. I can only imagine how hard this must be.”
P.S. In the photo: I picked some early white apples from my husband’s family garden, and a few early red apples were a gift from my granny. I turned them into the most delicious apple and cinnamon jam you can imagine.
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