When I was in high school, I took a sociology course. The teacher, Mrs. Naylor, was quite good and the students liked her. In particular, we enjoyed her class because we could discuss any and all aspects of human behavior with her. She led the lessons in an open forum, where nothing was too taboo or improper to bring up and explore.

One day, as we entered the classroom and sat down in our usual places, we found a substitute teacher there instead of our instructor. When we asked where Mrs. Naylor was, we were informed that her father had just passed away and that she would be away for a week.

After a week had passed, Mrs. Naylor returned. Seeing her in class for the first time since her father's funeral, I wanted to go up and give my condolences. But I was frozen; I simply couldn't do it. Instead, I hurriedly took a seat at one of the desks, waiting impatiently for class to start. Secretly, I hoped that maybe the other students would go up and give her their sympathies. Yet, as student after student filed into the classroom, the same thing occurred: everyone quietly took their seats, saying nothing.

It was time to begin class. Now, I thought, someone was bound to say something. Yet, as the class minutes went by, again, nothing was said. Mrs. Naylor went through her lesson, also saying nothing about her father or his death.

Finally, it was almost time to go. With ten minutes to spare and our homework assigned, Mrs. Naylor walked in front of the entire classroom and looked at each one of us. "I was told by the substitute that you were all informed about the reason for my absence."

Our heads nodded slowly in agreement.

"So, may I ask, why none of you has said anything about my father? Why no one has given me his or her sympathies?"

Simultaneously, we all turned beet red. As for myself, I wanted to just run away and bury my head in the sand, so ashamed was I of not saying anything to my teacher. We were absolute scum, all of us!

Yet, Mrs. Naylor continued. "May I ask, again, why no one has said anything?"

Finally, a brave soul spoke up. "We were, um, worried that you would get upset."

Mrs. Naylor looked up, smiling. "OK, that's good. Any other reasons?"

Another voice piped up. "We figured you wouldn't want to talk about it."

"I see," she replied. "Anything else?"

No one else volunteered to share their fears or their shame.

"Were any of you afraid I would start crying?"

Several people were heard to murmur "yeah" and "mmm hmm."

Mrs. Naylor smiled. "Well, thank you for telling me these things. This is a sociology class, after all, and what better thing can we do than to try to analyze each other's behavior, right?"

"So, you were studying us?" someone asked timidly from the back.

"In a way, yes," answered Mrs. Naylor. "And, let me also say this: your reaction was completely normal. People are afraid of death, and even more so of emotional displays. This is also why companies and schools give bereavement leave. No one likes to deal with this, and many people feel that, if such things are not talked about, they'll just go away."

We all looked at each other sheepishly. She was saying exactly what we had been feeling and thinking all this time.

"However, most people who have lost a parent, a child, a friend, or anyone close do in fact want to talk about it. Their biggest fear is that the deceased will be forgotten, as if he or she had never existed. Those in grief want to preserve the memory of the deceased, which is why we have funerals in the first place. In contrast to what you'd suspect, those in grief are quite eager, even happy, to talk about the people they have lost."

We all sighed in relief and started asking Mrs. Naylor about her father, the funeral, and other matters. The class bell rang and instead of rushing out, we lingered on, giving her our condolences and our attention.

I learned my most important lesson that day: all people wish for in the end is to be acknowledged as human beings, with human needs and human fears. They crave for someone who can genuinely listen to and sympathize with them. And that, if we stand back, afraid of getting too close, we will lose out on our most precious quality of all: our humanity.