I wonder how many people have thought about the power of silence as a tool for dealing with the inexplicable things that other people will say to the bereaved. I had to learn the value of this word the hard way.

When I first became a walking group volunteer, I made the mistake of working too hard at listening to folks without realizing that, if I interrupted them, I was simply not listening. I should have known better because of personal experience; those that I hoped would listen to me kept on interjecting their own view of things and, worse than that, kept on insisting that they knew exactly how I felt.

You can’t be a good listener if you presume to know how another person feels about anything unless you have asked a question and been given a specific answer. I don’t speak for anyone else, and I don’t let anyone speak for me.

Listening is a fine art. It’s neither easy to learn nor to practice at the best of times. It takes a certain amount of self-control to sit quietly while someone tells you a personal story. The spell can be broken easily: a sideways glance, the shuffling of papers, an inappropriate sigh might distract the person to whom you are listening.

It goes without saying that repeating anything told to you in your role as a volunteer is a serious violation of the other person’s privacy. On the other hand, one does hear some very interesting stories, many of which are hilarious.

With permission granted, these stories can be both entertaining and informative.

Most walking group volunteers are used to contacting people, by phone, to encourage them to join in the activity. It is not unusual to spend a very long time listening to contacts. Some folks are lonely and haven’t had much contact with anyone for some time, and volunteers understand this reality.

I have had phone calls that lasted over three quarters of an hour. I have had conversations with perfect strangers who tell me the most intimate details of their spouse’s illness and their family circumstances. At first, I was surprised at what people were able to tell a perfect stranger. Later on, I understood that because I didn’t know either them or their history, it was unlikely that I would interrupt the flow or interject my opinions. In other words, I was the perfect listener.

Once I met my contacts, especially the ones who had kept me on the phone for a very long time, I was usually told how much they had enjoyed our talk. The truth of the matter is that I had very little to say. Then again, I did listen, and listening is an art form much appreciated by bereaved people!

Some time ago, I had a listening experience that I would rather forget. I was uneasy about something, but for the life of me I can’t remember what the concern was about. I had a friend whom I trusted and to whom I felt comfortable talking. I phoned her and had one of those one-sided conversations to which I have referred.

From time to time, she made a remark. To make a long story short, after I thanked her for listening to me, she said, “Well, that is fine with me, John, and it gave me time to balance my cheque book while we were chatting. How silly of me.” I thought she was actually listening to me the whole time!

There is another side to the power of silence. Most bereaved people have had friends for many years. After the death of a loved one, most of these friends have comforting words of sympathy which are most welcome. However, there are those who somehow have the gift for saying the wrong thing at the worst possible time. “You’re still young. You’ll find someone else. Don’t worry, your kids will take care of you. Life goes on, and on and on. It’s time to move on. It’s time for closure.”

Believe me, I have heard all of these earth shaking remarks and then some. The conundrum for bereaved people is how on earth to respond to the stream of insensitivities that most of us have experienced.

The tragic thing is that some folks actually think that such remarks are helpful. I know from bitter experience that there is very little that one can say in response to these trite observations. We all know that it is folly to judge, but the temptation is very real at such times. When folks tell me about these situations, I do not encourage them to answer in anger or to show displeasure. Frankly, if people speak in an irrational manner, it is never wise to answer in kind.

However, I do tell my friends that there is a defense to such remarks. The best defense is silence. You would be very surprised at how effective such a defense can be. If you refuse to respond to potentially hurtful remarks, eventually, they will stop.

Over sixteen years, I have heard just about all of the possible well-meant but detrimental remarks from folks who should know better. It is interesting to hear how many of my friends have used a variance of the silence technique to get them through some very tough times.

The most glaring example that I know of happened to one of our social group members. The woman was in one of our walking groups some time ago. She met a man in the group, they fell in love, and shortly afterwards they were married. We always rejoice in these new relationships. We knew that they had bought a house and were very happy in their life together. Unhappily, he died after a very brief illness, slightly less than two years after their marriage.

Sometime later, one of her friends began to probe into our friend’s relationship with the husband who had just died. It took some time to sort out the questioning, but the gist of it was this: our friend was being asked to compare love making between her two husbands. Fortunately, my friend had heard me talk about the power of silence, and she used it. She tells the rest of the story.

I just sat there in complete silence, looking into the eyes of my friend. Then the most amazing thing happened; my friend blushed to the roots of her hair. She had a look of terror on her face such as I had never seen before on anyone’s face. She went pale and begged my forgiveness in the most abject terms. I just sat there and started to talk about something else. I see no need to bring up the subject again, ever, and I never will. We are still friends and for that I am thankful. She just said something that she should not have said, and I am sure that my silence was lesson enough.

Many of my bereaved friends have told me about similar inappropriate remarks or questions. These are extremely hurtful. It is challenging to imagine how well-meaning people can be so curious and insensitive at times.

However, I have noticed that bereaved people never need either to ask embarrassing questions or to invade the privacy of another bereft person. These awkward situations usually emerge from a wish to be helpful from people who do not understand the bereaved condition.