When words don't work

Yesterday was not the first time I've stumbled for words to offer a parent grieving the loss of their child, but it certainly doesn't make the task any easier to attempt.

The sobs they let out in my arms made me feel our roles had swapped, and I was the parent consoling a skinned-kneed child. If only I could make it all better for them with a band-aid and a lollypop, these last few days would have offered me much more peace than the little bit I'm biting onto. 

The unexpected resurrection of a feeling that can only blur and swirl around a sense of , "why." 

Regardless of stipulation, the predictions, best guesses, and eventual bitter swallow of  acceptance of the fact that there will never be an answer.  

Sometimes even the most carefully selected words can't offer the comfort of hugs. 

So, I gave them instead. 

And even for just that moment, we were able to smile.