We don’t know each other. Maybe we share histories, likes or dislikes, but because we don’t share language or culture, I cannot ask. You are a mother of two and come from a village in northern Thailand. Far from here. I am a student from the United States, hoping to learn about international social work as an intern at Chulalongkorn Hospital. I am here today because your youngest child, your beautiful sixteen year-old, is my client. I work in the palliative care unit. Your child has died.
When I see you, I give you the most respectful Wai, a Thai form of greeting by placing the palms of the hands together and bowing of the head, that I know how. My supervisor-turned-interpreter hugs you. Then you greet the other social work intern with familiarity. She has offered you counseling and support during this trying time. I was there. I sat there silently, hoping to hear a few phrases I recognize. I have been learning the language and culture, but nothing has prepared me for this moment. I want to retreat to my cultural comforts: “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Does that even mean anything to you? It certainly doesn’t comfort those of us who have lost loved ones in my own culture. Why do we say that?
You are warm and welcoming. As soon as I make eye contact with you, I can feel the tears rushing to my eyes, threatening to flood down my cheeks. No, I must be professional. I blink them back. After my Wai, you take my hand. We look together from the loading dock of the hospital. The smell of burning incense, as is done in Buddhist practice, permeates the air. Your child’s tiny coffin is on the dock. A pickup truck is backed up, and she is loaded into the bed, what feels like, to me, an unceremonious manner. I’m not sure what I had expected. A hearse? It feels too cavalier. The men, family members and close friends of your family, tuck large plastic bags full of teddy bears, blankets, and pillows around the casket as if to cushion and protect her. She will be cremated in your home village.
We stand there silently, hand-in-hand. I am not sure if you are comforting me or if I am comforting you. In that moment, I know this is what international social work means to me. Letting people know that they are not alone in their suffering. And for that moment, we understand each other perfectly. We share something that unites all humans across all languages and cultures; together, we grieve.