24 Oct Something we never talk about

There’s something we never want to talk about. Not unless it comes knocking on our door. But lately, it’s been knocking on many people’s doors, people I know, people I don’t know, one right after the other: mothers, fathers, leaving us grown children orphaned and disoriented. They were an anchor we never knew was there until it was suddenly lifted and gone. Maybe that’s why we don’t talk about it. Death is like a Beetlejuice incantation: say it three times and it will appear.

Of course, we know better. We are rational and intelligent creatures, are we not? We don’t talk about death simply because it’s not polite. Or is it, maybe, because it’s depressing? Or maybe because we just don’t want to think it will happen to us? Or to someone we love? And then it happens. And we are caught completely off guard, unable to figure out what to do, what to think, what to feel.

The world as we knew it gets turned upside down and right side out. Even when we are face to face with its imminent arrival and think we are prepared to tackle whatever comes our way, we can never be truly prepared to confront Death on its terms. It is an unspeakable vortex that will drain all your tears, it will suck in all your energy and leave you feeling like you just climbed Mt. Everest with no prior training.

You look around you and realize your brain should be firing synapses that are not firing at all. You tell yourself it will pass, but a day, a week, a month goes by, and it doesn’t quite pass. There is still that lingering feeling that something is amiss. Synapses still not firing as they should.

You think to yourself sometimes, “I should be okay by now.” It’s been a month, six months, a year. But the truth is that grief has no timeline, no deadline, grief will take as long as it takes. When someone you love dies, there will always be a very real sense that “something is missing.” You try to put on a brave face, you say, “I’m okay.” But the anchor has been lifted, you know you are adrift. How in the world do you explain that to people who ask, “how are you?”

“I’m okay.”

“How can I help?”

“I’m okay.”

Death will teach you to lie, even if you have never lied before. It will teach you to hide so no one has to talk about it, think about it, or deal with the unpleasantness of Death. Or maybe it will be an opportunity to tear down the metaphorical wall that shields us from facing the possibility of death, the reality of death. We are imperfect and mortal and finite, so death for us is as much a certainty as needing air to breathe. Not that we talk much about needing air to breathe, either. I suppose that’s because a lack of air would lead to the inevitable demise of our corporeal existence. Death. We do not want to talk about it.

I cannot say I am a religious person. I am, however, very much attuned to the spiritual, the intangible, the mysterious and, yes, even the magical undertones of our Earthly existence. I had a very dear friend who did not believe in anything after this life. She passed away 20 years ago. I have always wondered what she found when she crossed to the other side of this existence. I had a son who believed in the teachings of Lao Tzu and Buddha. He passed away 10 years ago and I am sure his incorporeal being now lives in eternal bliss. My mother passed away four years ago and a few weeks ago my father passed away. They both believed in Heaven, so I am sure they are both together there right now, eternally happy. That may be one of the positive sides of institutionalized religions: the conversation about the afterlife is always right there, slightly beneath the surface.

No matter what we think about Death or what we believe about the afterlife, it hardly seems something to be avoided in casual conversations. I suspect that if we were to talk more openly about life and death, we would be much better prepared to face the enormous void left in our hearts and souls when a loved one passes away.

I am still caught in that semi-numbness of grief, but I thought it would be good to write about it, to encourage others to talk about it. To all my friends who have lost a parent, a child, or a loved one, I hope they have found joy and eternal peace in their next journey and wish you all the inner strength to anchor your lives again.

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Finding Strength and Purpose Through Grief

By Julli Jaramillo

Janis Palma’s “Something We Never Talk About” delves into a deeply personal and universal experience—grief. As translators and interpreters, we often find ourselves navigating emotions not only in our work but also in our personal lives. Janis’s heartfelt reflection serves as a poignant reminder of how loss touches each of us, regardless of our path, age, or circumstances. The inevitability of death can catch us off guard and leave a lasting impact—and that’s entirely natural and it is okay for us not to be okay.

Grief is something we seldom discuss, yet it profoundly shapes how we approach our roles. In our field, we may often find ourselves in moments of deep vulnerability—conveying or living stories of hardship, loss, and transformation. It’s important to acknowledge how our own emotions, especially our experiences with grief, can influence the way we interpret and navigate these situations.

In light of Janis’s reflections, I’d like to offer some additional insights and resources that may resonate with others in our profession. As we navigate the complexities of grief, it’s helpful to explore ways to care for ourselves and support one another. Below are a few suggestions and resources that might provide guidance:

• Acknowledge and Share: Just as Janis encourages in her piece, talking about grief can be a path toward healing. Whether through conversations with colleagues or sharing memories with loved ones, openness can ease the burden.
• Professional Support: For those of us dealing with grief in the workplace, it may be beneficial to seek out resources specifically aimed at helping language professionals manage emotional stress. The American Psychological Association (APA) offers guidance on grief, which can provide practical steps for navigating your journey.
• Self-care and Connection: As interpreters and translators, our work often requires immense mental and emotional energy. It’s important to take care of ourselves, giving ourselves permission to rest and find peace in small moments. Reaching out to others, as Janis highlights, can create a sense of solidarity and healing.
• Honor Their Memory: Finding ways to remember and celebrate those we’ve lost can help bring comfort and meaning. Whether through a quiet reflection or a shared memory, keeping their legacy alive allows us to carry their presence forward while continuing to heal.

These resources and reflections serve as a reminder that, while grief is a deeply personal journey, it’s one we don’t have to walk alone.

To further explore this topic, here are two stories from CNN that explore grief and loss:

• Alisyn Camerota shares her grief journey
• Anderson Cooper talks about coping with his parents’ deaths

Together, Janis’s words and these resources remind us that while grief may never fully disappear, we can find ways to live alongside it. Through our memories and our shared experiences, we carry forward the legacies of those we’ve lost while supporting each other.

Thank you, Janis, for bringing such an essential conversation to the forefront. Your voice is a reminder of the strength we all possess, and I hope this piece offers additional support for anyone facing similar emotions.

Janis Palma has been a federally certified English<>Spanish judiciary interpreter since 1981. She recently obtained her Master in Legal Studies (MLS) degree from Arizona State University and holds an M.A. in literature and history from the Centro de Estudios Avanzados de Puerto Rico y el Caribe. Her experience includes conference work in the private sector and seminar interpreting for the U.S. State Department. She has been a consultant for various higher education institutions, professional associations, and government agencies on judiciary interpreting and translating issues. She worked as an independent contractor for over twenty years in federal, state, and immigration courts around the U.S. before taking a full-time job. Janis joined the U.S. District Courts in Puerto Rico as a staff interpreter in April 2002 and retired in 2017. She now lives in San Antonio, Texas, embracing the joys of being a grandmother. She also enjoys volunteering for her professional associations, has been on the SSTI and TAJIT Boards, and is the past Chair of the NAJIT Board of Directors. Contact: palmajanis88@gmail.com.

Jaramillo, Julli, is the newest Publishing Coordinator and Editor-in-Chief for NAJIT. She holds a master’s degree in Translation from NYU and has extensive experience in quality assurance, content development, and strategic growth. Passionate about NAJIT’s mission to uphold ethical standards for judiciary translators and interpreters, she is dedicated to driving the organization’s growth while ensuring its publications meet high-quality standards and adapt to evolving industry demands. In her free time, Julli enjoys baking and creating art.

Feel free to reach out to her (tno_editor@najit.org) to chat about the NAJIT Observer or Proteus—she is excited to collaborate!