▸ Column · Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters — faculty and staff, present day
PROFESSOR X replies.
Replied to by Professor X, with a rebuttal from Deadpool.
The letter
Three weeks ago a colleague here at the school lost her father — 61 years old, a stroke. When she came back I tried to say something comforting and it landed badly: I told her at least he hadn't suffered long. She just said he was only 61 and walked back to her desk, and since then we've only spoken when the work demands it. We used to eat lunch together nearly every day. I've drafted a dozen apologies and deleted every one, because each reads like I need her to absolve me more than I need her to be okay. I don't want to drop my guilt on top of her grief. Is there a way to acknowledge the clumsy thing I said and let her know I'm here — without asking her to manage my feelings on top of everything else she's carrying?
Professor X replies
What you've already understood is worth naming first: each of those twelve drafts was asking her for something — her forgiveness, her reassurance, permission for you to feel better about yourself — and you caught that and deleted it. That is not timidity. Most people send the text that makes themselves feel better and call it compassion.
I have gotten this wrong with people I love. After Jean died — the first time, and the times I don't count aloud — I said things to Scott that I believed were wise and were actually me needing him to stop drowning, because his drowning was unbearable to witness. I've carried those failures. What I learned from them is this: grief is not searching for the right words. It is, however, very good at noticing who stayed.
Stop editing. Send something small that genuinely asks nothing of her. Not "I'm so sorry for what I said" — that requires her to manage your mistake again. Something closer to: "I've been thinking of you. No reply needed at all." That holds a door open without requiring her to walk through it. The door doesn't need to be eloquent. It needs to be clearly, quietly there whenever she is ready to come back.
Tend the distance. Grief keeps its own clock, and she will notice that you stayed.
— Professor X
Deadpool weighs in
Okay, Charles, she's not a first-year student and this isn't a Danger Room debrief, but sure, very moving, excellent door metaphor.
Here's the thing nobody wants to hear: while you were busy engineering the perfectly un-selfish apology, she's been eating lunch alone. Waiting until your text is selfless enough IS making it about yourself — just in a more sophisticated way. I know this particular trick. I once sat on a phone call for four months deciding if reaching out would make things weird. The not-calling made it weird. I've had extensive time to reflect on this because I cannot die, it's a whole thing.
Send the janky text. She'll know you meant it. That part gets through even when the words don't.
— Deadpool