I recently came across an article about changing burial laws in Germany, and the differences were so striking that they made me pause and reflect on how language and culture shape our relationship with death, memory, and grief. In many parts of Germany, burial plots are leased, often for twenty or thirty years, and then the space may be reused if the lease is not renewed. This contrasts with the United States, where most graves are expected to be permanent and where families often choose personal memorial spaces, including scattering ashes in meaningful locations or keeping urns at home.
Germany’s approach is changing, however, and I think that shift is important. The country is beginning to allow new options such as transforming ashes into memorial diamonds or releasing cremated remains into the Rhine River with a permit. These developments move away from the idea that a loved one must rest in a fixed physical place. Instead, they open the possibility for remembrance in ways that feel more fluid, symbolic, and personal. Custom, like grief itself, continues to evolve.
Another part of German culture that caught my attention was the language used for pregnancy loss. Rather than relying solely on clinical terms like “miscarriage” or “stillborn,” many people use the word Sternenkinder, which means “children from the stars.” This gentle name offers recognition and tenderness to a grief that is often invisible or minimized. It is a reminder that language can shape the emotional space we make for one another.
This idea became even clearer when I thought about how languages with gendered nouns can influence the way people perceive the same object. In German, the word Brücke (bridge) is feminine, and German speakers often describe bridges with words such as “beautiful,” “elegant,” or “graceful.” In Spanish, puente (bridge) is masculine, and Spanish speakers tend to use words like “strong,” “sturdy,” or “solid.” The bridge does not change. The structure is the same. Yet the language around it directs people toward different impressions, feelings, and metaphors. Words do more than describe our world. They shape the way we understand it.
A Small Exchange With a Big Lesson
This influence of background and belief systems came to life for me in a small, everyday moment. There is a cashier at the pet food store I visit regularly. Every time I check out, he ends our conversation with the phrase, “Happiness is a choice.” I usually smile, wish him a good day, and walk out feeling that it was a little too positive for my taste. Having lived through the sadness and anger of cancer, I believe all emotions are valid and that no one should feel pressured to choose cheerfulness.
Yesterday, as he rang up my cat food, we began talking about art. He mentioned the beautiful lighting installation at the local children’s hospital that resembles a twisting DNA strand. Then, almost in passing, he shared that he was a survivor of childhood cancer. In that moment, his usual phrase made sense in a completely different way. What I had interpreted as overly cheerful might have been a mantra that carried him through an unimaginably difficult time. His words came not from avoidance but from experience.
This reminded me that language is deeply personal. What sounds dismissive or simplistic to one person may be a hard-won truth for another. None of us know the stories behind the words we hear.
Moving Toward a Season of Compassion
As we approach the holiday season, we will inevitably encounter people whose inner worlds are vastly different from our own. Some will be grieving loved ones and the future they expected to have. Others will be celebrating survival after profound struggle. Many will feel both at once. Language is one of the ways we bridge these unseen experiences, but it requires care. When we approach others with compassion, curiosity, and a willingness to listen, our conversations become opportunities for connection rather than misunderstanding.
Why Language Matters
Language reflects culture and shapes how we frame our experiences. Whether we are talking about burial customs, memorial practices, or everyday expressions, the words we choose reveal how we think about memory, meaning, and loss. Different cultures honor grief in diverse ways, and those approaches continue to adapt over time.
Words influence how we interpret the world around us. The example of bridges described differently in German and Spanish illustrates how language guides perception. The same is true for emotionally charged words such as “miscarriage” versus “Sternenkinder.” Language colors the emotional landscape before we have even processed the meaning.
The stories behind our words matter. My interaction at the pet store reminded me that what seems overly optimistic to me might be a lifeline for someone else. When we understand a person’s history, their words make sense in new ways.
Curiosity and compassion create space for understanding. When we are gentle with one another’s language, we open doors. We learn why someone uses certain words, what they mean in the context of their life, and how our conversations can become more thoughtful.
A Personal Intention for the Holidays
This year, I want to approach holiday conversations with softness and openness. I want to remember that every person carries memories, wounds, and hopes that shape how they speak. I may not always get it right, but I can try to offer space for whatever someone is carrying. Words have power. They can comfort, wound, illuminate, connect, or heal. And when we treat them with care, they become a bridge between us, something steady enough for both grief and gratitude to cross together.
