People who have experienced the loss of a loved one have instantly acquired a new language - the language of grief. It is a language that is not composed of words, but of emotions that is activated by sights and sounds. This language appears suddenly and in unexpected times and places.
The language of grief is an unspoken language but it speaks loudly to those who have acquired this vocabulary. And, through glances to one another, they communicate in this grief language. One of the most amazing aspects of this mode of communication is that people around those using this language have no idea this is taking place.
Let me give you a personal example.
Karen and I went with some friends to watch another friend participate in a dulcimer concert at a well known local landmark. Given the time of year , the music was comprised of some beautiful Christmas tunes from around the world. We were thoroughly immersed in the glory of the moment, enjoying the music with friends.
The leader introduced each song selection and explained its point of origin. After completing one wonderful rendition of a holiday melody, she announced the title of the next composition- "In the Bleak Midwinter". This was when Karen and I glanced at each other and, in the midst of an atmosphere of joyous holiday spirit, we began to communicate in the exclusive, complicated, and unspoken language of grief.
As the first notes of this beautiful tunes filled the air, our eyes began to fill the tears and our hands reached for each other. No one else in the room knew we were suddenly 'speaking' to each other using the language of grief and, in their defense, there would have been no reason why they would have known why this melody would have thrust us into this language. Only Karen and I knew why and so we were the only ones using the language. Here is why:
When we lived in Gainesville, Georgia, back in the 1990's, Jacob became involved in the community's musical theater group. This was a brand new world to our family, especially to me. Ben and I shared (and still do) a love for baseball so I could go in the backyard or a nearby school field and work on improving a certain skill he needed in the game. Katie and I shared (and still do) a love for choral music and so I could help her in certain ways as she practiced her songs. But the theater was a foreign land that no one else in the family had ventured. There was no point of reference where I could use my experience or expertise to help Jacob in this realm. All I could do was be a supportive parent who made sure Jacob was at all the practices.
One of the productions that Jacob was a cast member of was a musical presentation of 'A Christmas Carol'. He had a minor part playing a street urchin in several of the village scenes. He loved the experience and seemed to light up when the stage lights were on him. It was a beautiful interpretation of the Dickens' classic. 'In the Bleak Midwinter' was the opening song and recurring theme of the stage production.
So when the dulcimers began playing the notes of this hauntingly lilting composition, Karen's and my eyes locked on each other and we listened to grief speaking to us as our eyes wept and our hands trembled.
Such is the experience of those who know the exclusive, complicated, and unspoken language of grief. At a point in time you acquire the language and throughout the rest of your life, in the most unexpected times and places, you find yourself hearing grief speaking to you.
very emotional for me, sharing your memories and grief. Thank you for sharing.
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