Finding the right words… “What can I say?”; “What should I say?” The last 3 decades of my professional life have been spent thinking about how best to communicate on behalf of a host of organisations and brands. More recently, in addition to this, the same questions have popped up in my coaching journey.
I learnt something new about finding the right words in the last week, from a most unexpected place – the difficulty of dealing with death. As I reflected on what supported and brought a tear or a smile to my face when people offered their condolences on the passing of my father, there seem to be some learning’s that emerge.
The right words are the real ones. And sometimes a silent presence is more powerful than sugar-coated words. The standard “holding statements” are fine and appreciated, but the ones that cut through the clutter are tinged with a shared memory or an anecdote that I didn’t know about Dad. So the next time I craft a quote for a client or type out a statement when a client is in crisis management mode, the lessons from last week will shape my message.
Some words are like empty calories; they taste nice, but they don’t nourish the soul. Others are like drinking from a well of compassion and empathy. The messages, conversations and calls that touched my heart were unvarnished. They came from the heart, and they were not all pretty.
What worked? Well, the most powerful was physical presence. People who showed up. They came out of respect and love for my dad. They came out of friendship for him and my family. They gathered to honour his life. Some I did not even get to speak to. Others shared a moment or two, and a few stayed longer and helped me get stronger.
Language was not a barrier. There were some people who came and held my hand. Others had tears in their eyes. Some had happy stories to tell about how Dad touched their lives. A common theme that cut across all the sharing was how caring Dad was. His friendships and relationships cut across age groups, geographies and economic strata. There is a universal language. It’s openness, laughter, sharing and genuine caring.
Another common refrain was “Who will call me fresh air?” “Who will call me Stewey?” “Who will call me aunty Loveyou?” “Who will call me Motach?” and a host of other special names that dad had for people in his life. The personal touch that connected him to so many friends a well-wisher is also something that stands out.
There was one handwritten letter that arrived for my mum that had both emotion and eloquence. So, it’s possible to find both, but the important lessons I take from all of this as a communicator are simple. Timing matters. In person is absolutely the best. Real feelings beat the right words. Language is not a barrier to sharing feelings. A hug sometimes says more than enough. Knowing how to be comfortable with silence is a skill.
I read a post by Papa CJ that said, “legacy is not what you leave behind, it’s what others carry forward…”. I will carry forward his (dads) quest for excellence in all that he did. I will be more open and trusting. I will laugh more. I will worry less about what’s right and try my best to be more real.
Cheers to the real role model, gentleman planter, homestay pioneer, father, father-in-law, husband, son, grandfather, friend, and so much more that he was. I read an article about him in the Kerala tourism magazine titled, a tearful adieu to a true gentleman, that ended with this quote: “The smallest deed is better than the greatest intention”, and went on to say “, Victor (my dad), you lived a life of countless small deeds that added up to something magnificent. Your handshake was strong, your voice was warm, your smile was genuine, and your heart was big enough to embrace the world…. You will be deeply missed, fondly remembered and never forgotten.”
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