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***DISCLAIMER: This is completely unrelated to my life right now. I am not dealing with any grief, loss, or intense emotional pain. This is just a thought I had this morning and felt the urge to write. I am totally fine.***

Have you ever carved pumpkins? We did once, and it ended with a trip to the ER when the kitchen knife slipped and cut a major vein in my dad's hand. That might be why they sell kits with those tiny serrated knives: so mishaps like that are avoided.

Imagine lying on a table. The room around you is sterile, white with synthetic light and Clorox. An operating room. A man stands over you with one of those pumpkin-carving accident-proof knives. Instead of an anesthesiologist, there are four huge men holding you down - you couldn't move if you tried. With very little care, the doctor digs the blade into your chest. You struggle, attempt to sit up, try to stop him from carrying out this agonizing and apparently pointless task. But those hulking giants are there to keep you down, and they're very good at what they do. The sadist finishes a jagged circle in your chest; he reaches for an ice pick and rips out your heart without any consideration that you need it to survive. He flings it, still clamped in the pick, across the room, removes his gloves, and walks out of the room. The men release you, but you don't move: the pain keeps you where you are. Before all the men leave, one returns to the table and dumps a vial of acid on your gaping chest. Your scream chases him from the room.

Two more men enter the room. One has a camera and dances around the table, capturing your agony on film. The other carries a microphone and gets right up in your face.

"Wow, you look like you're really suffering here," he says, examining your chest. "Could you tell us how it felt when you had your heart cut out? Or maybe what you're feeling right now? Just one word for the camera, if you don't mind."

Would you really sit up and say calmly, "Yeah, it hurt like hell, but I know it'll heal eventually, might leave a scar, but I think I'll be alright, that's comforting enough to make me stop screaming now"? Of course not. You look at him in awe and think around the seering hole in your chest, "HOW CAN YOU EXPECT ME TO PUT SOMETHING LIKE THAT INTO WORDS?!?!!?!!" Instead of a well-formed response, you scream in his face.

In the past three months I've had several friends/acquaintances deal with death. Some lost parents, one lost a close grandfather, the anniversary of my own grandmother's passing was two months ago. As I watch those who have lost, I remember a little-known Proverb that says something like, "A comforting word to the grieving is like salt in a wound." How can we really expect those who are grieving to behave "correctly," to speak coherently, to express themselves logically, when their hearts are heavy and their lives now contain a void? To ask them to behave normally is just as unfair as asking one whose heart has just been ripped out to put into words how he feels. Let them grieve; let them be upset and angry and desperate and paralyzed. They'll come around when they're ready, but your kind words may only be comforting you, letting you think, "Wow, I did something nice, I encouraged them by saying 'they're in a better place' or 'there's a purpose in this'." (My personal favorite is "God works all things together for good" - how dare you imply that something about the loss of this cherished person is good.) Leave them alone, and don't expect more of them than they are physically able to give.

To you who are grieving: Don't feel pressured to muscle up an answer when a scream will do.