Give Sorrow Words

 by Mary Keen, M.Div., LMFT

612.332.7743 ext. 220
mkeen@wpc-mpls.org

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the
o'er-fraught heart and bids it break.

William Shakespeare, Macbeth

Upon hearing news of his wife and children's brutal death, Macduff is gripped with shock and grief that leaves him speechless. Malcolm in an act of solace and comfort, speaks these words..."Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break."

When one is first faced with the reality of someone's death, especially if it is sudden or unexpected, the unreality of the moment, all too real, leaves us speechless. Numb, perhaps frozen, as if time stopped and one is suspended in mid-air, unsupported by the solid ground so familiar under one's feet. Words are far from speech when the emotion of the news is first felt.

When someone dies, even someone who has been preparing for death in slow steps, inching away from life as if in labor for a new birth, the moment of death, even expected is still hollow, empty, breathless. For those who remain in this life and loved the person who just entered the next, words are inadequate to embrace the feeling of loss, of grief, of sorrow, of the holy moment just witnessed.

Yet as Shakespeare penned, "give sorrow words..." To keep the experience locked up in a broken heart brings deeper wounds.

Speaking about grief as an observer, is far different than living the grief that seems to weight each step and movement. A grief that seems so encompassing one wonders if life will ever bring smiles rather than tears.

As a pastor and therapist, I have been with people in sorrow-filled moments, as the observer, the partner, the one who speaks as Malcolm did, inviting those caught in grief to share. The hope is to spark movement and healing. As daughter and sister, I have experienced loved ones' deaths too close to each other. In three years I have lost my mother, and my two brothers, one tragically, one to cancer. I have been the one invited by others to "give sorrow words..." to spark my own movement to mend my broken heart. Words do help, especially when one senses the person listening truly cares and wants to hear the stories, sometimes for the tenth time.

Yet, in my own experience, sorrow, even spoken, has now become a companion. The heavy weight of my loved ones' absence is less, yet the powerful grief of their deaths is present. As people have listened to my words, however, the tears have melded into smiles of gratitude. Deep gratitude for those I miss and for those willing to hear my words, again.

Jane Kenyon's poem Let evening come, ends with these words: 

Let it come, as it will, and don't
be afraid.  God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.