"Good morning" to those starting their day. "Good luck" to those preparing for job interviews. "Safe travels" to those hitting the road. "Bon appétit" to those sharing a meal. "Happy holidays," "happy birthday." "Fair winds" to those setting sail. "Welcome" to those arriving. We have no shortage of words to accompany life's happy moments. For hardships, we also have nearly ready-made expressions. We offer "condolences" to bereaved families. We wish "speedy recovery" to the sick. We encourage those beginning long convalescence. We say "may the earth rest lightly upon you" or "rest in peace" to those about to be buried. But what do you say to a friend whose child has just been kidnapped? What do you say to a family with a loved one among the 173 people missing since the start of the year? According to police figures, 83 remain unaccounted for to this day. I learned today of the disappearance of my former classmate's nephew. I immediately wanted to write to him. To say what? Then I stopped. I had no words. Yet it wasn't feelings I lacked. Upon learning this terrible news, I felt a shock, as if I had swallowed a piece of ice. My silence was not a lack of empathy. It was an extension of the void that engulfed me for long minutes. Faced with the disappearance of a human being, known or unknown, words suddenly seem trivial. They fail. They become powerless against the anguish of waiting, against the absence of explanation, against hope that refuses to die. Our language names so many dramas. One becomes a widow or widower upon losing a spouse. One becomes an orphan upon losing parents. But there is no word to designate parents who lose a child. As if certain pains were so profound that no language had ever succeeded in naming them. When my brother told me of Mama's death, I felt as though a block of ice had replaced my heart. The ground gave way beneath my feet. My legs could no longer carry me. My hands trembled. My voice, already quiet by nature, had vanished. Even I could no longer hear myself speak. Food had lost all flavor. I looked at my family members, my friends, my colleagues, as if they had become strangers. My breath remained caught in my throat. In a word, I was no longer myself. I was alone. I had lost part of my humanity. It took me two years before I stopped crying for Mama every day. And yet, I never lacked prayers, comforting words, or gestures of affection. But there are pains that neither faith, nor the love of others, nor time can immediately soothe. Now, let us try to put ourselves in the place of the parents, siblings, grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins of the 173 people reported missing since January 2026. This is an almost impossible exercise. We cannot imagine the state of mind in which they live today. Because disappearance is a trial different from death. Death eventually brings certainty, however unbearable. Disappearance, on the other hand, traps families in endless waiting, where hope and fear wage a silent battle each day. There are no words capable of fully translating our solidarity. The tragedy of these families is a nameless pain. We can offer them our compassion, our empathy, our presence. But words abandon us. In a culture as "oral" as ours, where speech holds an essential place, we suddenly find ourselves facing a tragedy that language itself seems unable to contain. These 173 families cling to the hope of seeing their children alive again with the same force that an infant clings to its mother. They surely pray each day for their return. At the same time, they live with the permanent fear of learning of their death. Even more unbearable is the idea of finding them murdered. They live in anguish. They live in anger. An anger we all share before a phenomenon that seems to exceed each of us. I imagine it is sometimes impossible for them to swallow even a cup of coffee. That they no longer have the strength to care for one another as before. And that at certain moments, no word of comfort, however sincere, can find its place in their pain. Transcending this nameless national tragedy is an undertaking that exceeds each of our individual dramas. For in this trial, each family lives its ordeal in almost absolute solitude, like an island.