Verbiage and Its Limits

I am amazed that I have posted so few times. I've 'written' so many posts in my head. I like writing and find writing is a form of therapy. It helps me see things from a different perspective.
Verbose (characterized by the use of many or too many words; wordy) and loquacious (talking or tending to talk much or freely; talkative; chattering; babbling) are words aptly used to describe me. My elementary report cards often had words like "chatty" and "talkative" in the Teacher Comment section. Words help me make sense of my world. I am delighted when I discover a word that really narrows in on a meaning, especially when it helps me explain something. Recently, I was reading "Depression for Dummies" and it described this disease as 'insidious' (intended to entrap or beguile: stealthily treacherous or deceitful) and I thought "YES, that's it exactly." I sometimes feel a little like Archie Bunker as I say a word, and then wonder if I've used it correctly. Even at 44, I still use a dictionary regularly. I love it when I'm talking and one of my girls asks me what a word means. Often, defining a word is harder than using it in context. And there are many words whose connotative meaning is slightly different than its denotative one.
I contend that one reason (besides my inherent nature) that I am verbose, is my years teaching. As a teacher, I've been trained and conditioned to explain the same concept in as many different ways, using as many different words as I can. With each additional description I may be reaching an additional student. Hubby must often tell me, "Uh, I got it the first time. Please leave the teacher outside." I didn't really discover thesauri (or thesauruses) until high school. What goldmines of absolutely exquisite words. I have dictionary.com and thesaurus.com on my favorites. My girls call me 'geeky.' That's alright.

My discourse about words came about because I attended a funeral yesterday. One of my very good friend's husband died suddenly of a heart attack last Thursday evening. I had spoken with my friend, but yesterday was the first time I'd seen her. I had no words. "I'm sorry for your loss," quite an understatement. "I'm here for you." yea, I am, but in reality, she'd much rather her husband. At the memorial she got up to speak and said "He was the love of my life. My best friend. That's all there is to say." So how do you possibly offer words to bring comfort to someone whose lost that? Fortunately there are ways to communicate without words. We hugged (clung to) each other. I told her I'd call her. We hugged again. I know she knows I care. I know she knows I have an inkling of what she's going through as she's held my hand through John's illness and death. But still I felt so helpless. I wanted to have the words to 'make it all better.'
Terry was 65. He'd retired 5 years ago. Elizabeth's in her late 50's. She retired last year. They were building a house on the river. A gorgeous house (as someone described yesterday as 'a bungalow version of Buckingham Palace'). They were to move into it in February.
Can't find the words to describe my feelings.