...please: don't say it's not really so bad. Because it is. Death is awful,
demonic. If you think your task as comforter is to tell me that really, all
things considered, it's not so bad, you do not sit with me in my grief but place
yourself off in the distance from me. Over there, you are of no help. What I
need to hear from you is that you recognize how painful it is. I need to hear
from you that you are with me in my desperation. To comfort me, you have to
come close. Come sit beside me on my mourning bench.