It has been a month since my brother died. The circumstances of his sudden death were tragic, leaving us with a lot of unanswered questions.
I had the awful job of notifying my elderly parents who lived oceans away that their firstborn was no longer in this world. Their guttural cries pierced and hurt me more than the news of my brother’s death.
Once the news spread a steady stream of relatives and friends started pouring into my parents’ home brimming with grief.
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I am thankful that there were many kind people. Some offered their sincere condolences over the phone. Others came in person to console my parents and sit with them.
They brought food and made sure they ate. They put their lives on hold and tried to help in any way they could. They listened and didn’t offer up meaningless platitudes.
Then there was the other kind. The ones who came to show their face for formality’s sake. They had come to find out the juicy details and spread it faster than TMZ.
Most people have good intentions but sometimes lack common sense and empathy to understand how their words will hurt a grieving person. Only if they walked in those heavy shoes would they be able to fathom the endless torment of a grieving heart.
My parents were still in dizzying shock, trying to process what I had just told them when they were subjected to the insensitivity of callous relatives. Worse, I was not there to shield them away from this hailstorm.
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