A couple of recent articles about what to say and not to say to chronically ill people reminded me of an essay I’ve been wanting to write for a long time: an essay about what to say and not to say to grieving people.
This is not that essay.
Instead I’ve been thinking a lot about the fundamental difficulties in communication. Those articles I linked to have excellent advice for how to support people who are ill, and yet… implementing that advice is no easy matter. It can be hard to be supportive, and it can be hard to be supported.
One way to be supportive
I’d love to think that having gone through the experience of losing my own mother would make me some kind of expert when it comes to grief. But it hasn’t. I still find myself at a loss for words. I still don’t always know the best way to support someone experiencing grief. Because people are different, and they need different things.
The reason I wanted to write that essay is because of some profoundly stupid and upsetting things people said to me about losing my mother (both during and afterwards). But I recognize that some of those things that grated against my raw skin would have been comforting to others. So if you don’t know a person extremely well, how do you know? How do you know what they need to hear? The answer is, you don’t. You do your best to be thoughtful and caring, and you listen in hopes of hearing what they need.
Of course, some responses are simply a bad idea. Pushing our religions and religious ideas onto others who don’t share them in a time of grief is shockingly dense. Comparing one grieving person with another one unfavorably is also completely out. (Julie lost her mom last year and is doing great, so why are you such a mess? Ugh.) Continuing a conversation normally as if we didn’t just hear someone tell us about a recent loss? Completely inappropriate. (And yes, these are all responses I received personally.)
But beyond that, some people want alone time, while other people never want to be alone. Sometimes it’s nice to pretend like everything’s okay, and sometimes another minute of pretending seems completely insupportable. Sometimes people will want to talk about it, sometimes they’ll want to cry, and sometimes they’ll want to play video games. Some people will want to talk religion, some will be experiencing grave doubts, and some will simply want to avoid the subject as much as possible. And the relationship between the grieving and the dead will be different in each case as well. But somehow in the aftermath of death we forget this and make assumptions that aren’t always correct.
Our society teaches us to tiptoe around grief. What this often means is a flood of well wishes right after the death of a loved one, followed by…resounding silence. No one knows if they’re supposed to pretend nothing is wrong or if they’re supposed to inquire after you. People don’t know how best to support you. Those who grieve are not always encouraged to figure out what they need or communicate those needs to others. Sometimes they are too upset to have any hope of doing so.
Because this is not that essay, I don’t have any nice, neat conclusions for you. I don’t have definitive answers or a list of ten things you should do to help your friend who is grieving. What I try (and sometimes fail) to do myself is to be compassionate, remember that the other person is not me, and pay attention. I don’t feel like it is enough, but it’s all I’ve got.
If you’ve ever lost a loved one, what kind of support did you need/want? What things did people say to you that were particularly helpful (or unhelpful)?
The Practical Free Spirit 
I think you’ve really got it right – because we’re not handed a specific set of tools to deal with grief, it’s a very individual process. Whereas you know the proper etiquette for meeting someone (shaking their hand, saying “nice to meet you” or something to that effect), we’re uncomfortable with grief and loss and so we aren’t taught how to handle it.
When I lost the woman who raised me, I needed time and space. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts and memories, to make sure I would remember as much as I could. But I know being alone all the time isn’t a.) seen as a good sign or b.) helpful to others. I got a lot of “it will be okay,” which didn’t help, because it never has been.
The best thing anyone did for me was my friend T, who had lost her father the year before. She helped form a support group at our high school, and would often just come and sit with me. That companionship truly helped, and even though other people inappropriately compared our grief (as you also mention as a faux pas), we helped each other through.
Thank you for giving me the opportunity to write this down. I truly appreciate this post.
Thanks, Danielle, for such a thoughtful comment, and for sharing your experience. I think that is so helpful because it is very easy to assume everyone is the same, and hearing about a variety of experiences is a great way to remember that this is simply not true.
I also think it’s interesting what you said about what you needed not being helpful to others. Because when you’re grieving, I don’t think you should have to be helpful to others, but rather taking care of yourself. But sometimes we are not given the space to do this.
The thing that least works for me, is when people tell my lost loved one is in a better place. I’m an agnostic, and this can’t make me feel better, it merely brings up for me what I feel are presently unanswerable questions.
What works best is if they say, “I’m here for you,” or words to that effect, and mean it.
When my stepfather passed, ages ago, my sister, I and one of our relatives played a long boring game of Monopoly late into the night. It was a very good thing; we were too young to process what we felt. Now that I’m older, I prefer to discuss my feelings with close friends, but usually not at length. I don’t want to take on a career of grieving; life is way too short already as it is.
I get why most people just say things like, “sorry for your loss,” then leave it at that. I get awkward in these situations myself, and try to leave people with the benefit of the doubt.
Yeah, I don’t like the better place comment either. Or the “she’s free from her suffering.” A lot of grieving is about the one doing the grieving and suffering from personal loss, and this comments seem to not quite understand that.
And for myself, I prefer something like “I’m here for you” as well.
Not only do we tiptoe around grief in this culture, people seem afraid anymore to even speak the word death. Everybody says “passed away” now. Death is the new Voldemort.
When my Grandmother died, I preferred a nice “sorry for your loss” and then space. I didn’t really want to go into details to be honest. However, I knew that people mean well, and wasn’t offended by what anybody said who was trying to make an effort.
Oh man. I hate “passed away.” Once in awhile I feel somehow compelled to say it, but I’ve made a point to say “My mom died” most of the time. But it’s tricky when talking to someone else about their loss, because I don’t want to offend them. Sigh.
Phew. I thought I was the only one (regarding “passed away”). But yeah, definitely tricky when talking with somebody else about their loss.
Thank you for writing about this topic. I lost my brother a few months ago and at the moment i’m experiencing the silence that follows the flood of well wishes. I think death ( as well as births) intensifies the energy of the relationships you already have in your life. In other words: the strong bonds will be strengthened even more and the weak ones will stay weak.
As for ways to support someone that is grieving, I think just saying that you want to help/suppport them but that you just don’t know what to do is far better than doing or saying nothing
Sometimes genuineness and honesty can help cut through the awkwardness. Thanks for reminding me of that.
The best thing anyone said to me was, “I’m here.” and, “Tell me what you want/need.”
Yeah, I like both of those a lot too, for myself.
Recently at the school my Mum works at 3 people have passed away for various reasons. There is only so much you can do as a coworker/friend but there is burdens that can be lessened. They all got together and helped with meals, sitters for the children, lawn care etc. That way the family could grieve as they please with out the background noise of life.
How thoughtful of your Mom and coworkers. Yes, there are definitely things that can help out. I know when my Mom died, I really wanted people to feed me. Not so much because I was incapable of doing so but because it was a concrete thing that made me feel cared for.
If you’re just an acquaintance or casual friend, there’s really not much you can say or do. At worst you can be hurtful, so you should just strive not to be that.
If you are a real friend, you should be there. I don’t mean that you should say “I’m here for you”. That is a pointless platitude without actually physically being there for the person. Be present in their life. Give them human contact. Show them though actual deeds that you care about them.
I would not ask the person what they want/need. They’ve got enough problems that they don’t need to also think of instructions/tasks for someone else.
True, if you say “I’m here for you” but then in actuality are not, that is not helpful at all.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the want/need question, and I think that’s a really important insight you have about level of closeness. As an acquaintance, I won’t have any idea what the person needs or what their daily life is like enough to help gracefully. But for a close friend, I’d have a lot better idea of their schedule/lifestyle and what I might be able to do to help them if they need it.
I struggle with this. For reasons that aren’t 100% conscious, I find myself more afraid of saying the wrong thing than I am of failing to be supportive. As a result, I rarely have much to offer beyond “I’m sorry.” I try to invite people to talk about it if they’re willing, because I know that venting is a helpful form of release, but beyond that I find myself in stasis unless the grieving party asks for something from me.
I will jump up and do something for a friend if they tell me they need it, but outside of offering “Let me know if there’s anything I can do” (which is so easy it’s basically a cop-out), I rarely know what to do.
I think the challenge is two-directional, to an extent. It’s absolutely true that people need to be careful about how they offer sympathy or support, and knowing when not to be critical, but there’s also value in a person who has undergone hardship being vocal about what it is that will help the most and what likely responses really won’t do any good.
I often struggle too beyond saying I’m sorry, particularly if it is with an acquaintance. There is a part of me that wants to say, “Hey, I lost my mom, so if you need to talk…” but then I remember the neverending stream of people telling me about their dead loved ones right after my mom died and how frustrating and depressing that was. So I stop myself and offer to talk without referencing my own experience.
When my mom died, I was 22. Almost all of my friends were in the 17-22 age range, and had not yet experienced a death in their lives, let alone the loss of a parent. One of my best friends had died when I was 16, so it wasn’t my first experience with human loss, but it was orders of magnitude worse to lose my mom than to lose a friend.
Because almost everyone in my life had not been through it, I pretty much isolated myself — they did not know what to say or do, and I didn’t have it in me to help them figure it out, to hand-hold them through the process of caring for me.
Since then, a lot of my friends (from back then, as well as ones I’ve made since) have lost someone, particularly a grandparent. More than a few have lost parents and friends to death. My partner’s dad had cancer, and fortunately survived, but it was a close call.
When someone we care about is hurting, we want to be able to DO SOMETHING. But for the most part, the best thing we can do is listen. Offer simple condolences, and then listen.
One of the things I most often say when someone has lost a friend or family member is, “I’m so sorry. I would love to hear some stories about him/her, when you’re ready.” I find that the process of offering to hear a favorite memory often gives me some grounding in the situation, allows the grieving person to share something about this person they have loved and lost, and creates a fairly neutral mode of communication from which other forms of comfort and help, if needed, can arise.
Oh, I love your idea about offering to hear stories. That is so kind. I know for several years it was so awkward for me to bring my mom up that I never talked about her, which became another aspect of the loss.
And yes, we do want to do something so much, don’t we? But nothing we can say or do will make the pain go away. We can just be present.
One of the worst things I’ve ever heard at funerals is other mourners telling the bereaved, “She’s in a better place.” That sets me off.
Yeah, me too. It feels a bit like taking away their right to grieve.
I agree.
I’m possibly the worst person to talk about grief; not because I’ve not experienced death, but because I have. In the last 14 years, I have averaged almost 1 funeral per year. (By comparison, at age 30 I have only been to 3 weddings in my entire life, which I consider a major reason for my sense of fatalism.)
There would be 3 deaths of particular note: my best friend’s father, my mother, and a teenage friend/acquittance.
My best friend lost their father (of some advanced age and bad health) while in college. It was very difficult for them and remained so for years afterwards. A decade later, I’m still not certain if they’re “over it”. I don’t think they ever figured out what they really needed for coping – they got grief counseling, had friends willing to talk about it, etc. They are part of a family that tends to internalize problems which probably didn’t help. It bothered me that I could never do anything to help.
My mother died 3 years ago. I coped with the death of a parent with what is surely unusual ease due to a simple method: from the moment my mom told me she had cancer until she died 8 months later I never stopped for one moment being convinced she was going to die. Even if she “beat” cancer, I already knew several people who had “beat” cancer only to have it come back stronger and kill them a few years later. Added to this acceptance was her condition before cancer: between a divorce, single parenthood, a lifetime long-distance commuting for work in an office environment (often corporate) she seemed utterly burned out and exhausted most of the time. So my sense of fatalism allowed me to go straight to the Acceptance stage. Dunno if it was “healthy” but I handled it well and instead of letting the weight of death drag me down I’ve tried to use it to help propel be forward (ex: if my mother hadn’t died, I probably would not be back in college finishing up my degree) in the subsequent 3 years.
Despite never giving any indication it was a sore spot, most people who knew me really treated me with kid gloves any time the subject of parents or death came up. I would get big apologies when someone “thoughtlessly” mentioned something and I had to repeatedly assure them that everything was fine.
An acquittance died 2 years ago – suicide during his senior year of high school. I shared a large social circle with him and the whole thing was like a nuclear bomb to everyone who knew him, even those who only met him a few times…everyone except me. Even though he was the first suicide I’d ever known and I wasn’t expecting his death, it didn’t come as a shock. He’d gone through an messy breakup stemming mostly from bad decisions on his part which had alienated a bunch of his friends, particular the older and more mature ones. I certainly don’t think he should have committed suicide, but it’s the kind of thing that didn’t seem shocking. My mindset was basically “People, especially young people, going through difficult times sometimes kill themselves. It Happens.” (I guess the same could be said for my reaction to my mother’s death: “People get cancer and die. It Happens.” I had a similar reaction when Columbine happened: it being the first school shooting I’d heard of, my gut reaction was “School kids shooting their peers? Why doesn’t that happen more often?”).
Some of the people that were closer to him had mentioned his name in passing a few times lately at the new local game store and seem to have dealt with it – it was the kind of thing they needed time for the shock to wear off. Of course, the sad epilogue to the kid’s death was his mother committing suicide about a year after he did, presumably out of grief.) I also wonder if my ability to cope easily with his death was related to two other factors: my mother had died barely a year earlier so if that didn’t seriously impact me there was no reason this acquittance should; and as someone who has seriously considered suicide at different times during their life, someone actually committing suicide seems far less shocking than it probably does to people who have never considered it.
Thank you for sharing. I think your experience just reinforces the idea that everyone deals with death differently and needs different things. And also, people deal with their grief on different time scales. There isn’t one “right” way.
I had a string of acquaintances die in the year before and after my mom died, and for me it would bring up my fear and grief about my mom even more strongly. But I could totally see it having gone the other way and having less effect because compared to my mom, it didn’t impact me as directly.
Individual situations matter a lot in how we deal with grief. I think the age and experience level of the bereaved also affects what works best in helping people deal with grief. The situation matters too – accidental death? death after a long illness? death in old age? suicide? When my mom died after a long illness, I was 13 and found adults to just make the situation worse in their attempts to “guide” me in my grieving to be like how they were grieving. Their religious platitudes about her being “better off” also didn’t help me at all. She had directly told me differently, that she’d rather be with us than anywhere else regardless of the costs. (Having met other children who felt abandoned, like death was a conscious choice made by their parent, I appreciate my mom’s statements even more). What worked best was when adults did useful things like provide my family with pre-made dinners or invite us to normal social events to get us out of the house and interacting with other people. I was a bit paranoid that no one could look at me or my sisters after that moment without pitying us as motherless waifs. My friends helped by not treating me differently after my mom died than before, and letting me know what they missed about her too. Meeting other kids who had lost people important to them also helped in seeing the gamut of how to deal with such losses.
Probably the best advice I ever got during that time (and I don’t recall whether it was from a person or a book since I spent a lot of time escaping into books) was that my mom would be with me in my memories, and that writing those memories down along with how I felt about them would be helpful. It worked.
Thanks so much for sharing your story, Stacie. This reminds me of the memory book my mom put together for me before she died. She wrote about memories she had of me, of how proud she was of me, and put various drawings and clippings in the book, as well as the journal she’d kept while I was a baby. It is one of my most treasured possessions.