Live to the Max

Not so long ago, I found myself in an unexpected conversation with five women between 85 and 96 years old.

As our brief exchange was coming to a close, one of the ladies touched my necklace and said, “Tell me about this.”

I replied with a smile, “This necklace has my son’s name engraved on it, I wear it every day.”

The whole group seemed to step forward in unison, each leaning in, showing great interest in what I would say next. They quite literally circled around me as I began to share.

I’m not sure why I chose to say the next sentence, but I did. “His name was Max and he took his own life only a few months ago,” I said with tears growing around the corners of my eyes.

Perhaps I told them because of the kindness in their eyes, or the fact that I secretly long for someone to give me a chance to speak his name each day.

Either way, I instantly regretted mentioning such a dark and heavy topic. I was worried it was too burdensome for this group of older women.

Then, something unusual happened. They did the opposite of everyone else I had encountered up to this point in my grief. They were silent.

I had grown accustom to the looks of pity that typically followed such an announcement, along with the standard line, “I’m so sorry. I’ll keep you in my prayers.”

Instead, this group allowed the silence to hang in the air for a moment. By this time, the circle they had formed around me had somehow tightened.

They were now touching me. Warm, weathered hands were now resting lightly on my shoulders, hands, and arms.

I didn’t feel crowded, I felt surrounded…supported. I felt understood, the rarest feeling of them all.

The silence wasn’t awkward, it was one of the most comforting sensations yet. While it was very brief, they chose to hold back cheap words to properly honor the magnitude of my pain.

One by one they broke the silence with stories of their own loss. This group I once perceived as being too fragile or tender for my sad story were actually survivors of their own.

Some had also lost children tragically, others endured saying goodbye to the love of their life. None of them made it through their life without experiencing great pain. Not one.

While the journey I’m on is a lonely one, I have learned that I am certainly not alone. The path is well worn by those who seem to understand. What a gift it is to be understood by fellow weary travelers.