Small and Simple Joys: February 2010

Over the past year I have become acquainted with several people who have experienced the tremendous loss of infants, children, and parents. These individuals somehow found this blog and read our journey with Sarah. They have lovingly reached out to our family sincerely offering their support. Beth is one of these kind individuals. Her dear mother, Erika, passed away unexpectedly on December 19, 2008. Beth began writing a blog to share her feelings and record the memories of final moments with her mother. Although we have never met face to face, I feel as if we have climbed an enormous mountain together. This mountain was surviving the first year without our loved ones. Beth is a talented, beautiful writer who recently wrote a blog post on what to say to a friend who is grieving. With permission, I would like to share her experience and advice with you.  Thank you Beth.

I Don’t Know What to Say
   This past year I learned that life does not go on forever. Of course I already knew that; it’s obvious. I mean that I really learned it. Learned it the hard way, as the lessons of life typically come to be known. Experiencing a death in my family at the end of 2008 opened numerous doorways for making connections to others who had lost someone they love. Some recently, some many years ago. I met people through my local hospice, through internet blogging websites, and even established deeper bonds with people I already knew.
   Several of my friends approached me in the weeks after my mother’s death and said things like, “I lost my mother last year, too,” or, “My brother passed away, and I am here if you want to talk about it.” Parts of me felt guilty that these were people I had known for some time and I had never known they had experienced the loss of a loved one. The other parts of me felt grateful for their courage and willingness to share this deeply sad experience, and to comfort me with their wisdom and companionship.
   I am now, finally on the other side of the vast river of THE FIRST YEAR. And sadly, I am watching someone I care about go through the experience of losing someone he loved deeply. It gives me a new understanding of what my friends might have been going through at this time last year. Watching someone you care about experience pain, and knowing there is nothing you can do about it is a horrible feeling. When I stand in front of an ocean I feel very, very small; in a really wonderful, humbling, spiritual way. The experience of watching someone grieve feels a little bit like that, but the smallness is not related to feeling wonderful, humble or spiritual. Instead, I often feel completely helpless, and restless at my own inadequacy to lift the spirits of a friend.
   There are so many ways people want to help a newly bereaved friend or family member. Many, many of these ways are helpful. Some are not. I am going to share with you some of the most helpful things I learned and heard, and some of the less helpful, and even hurtful ways people were involved. We all will have the experience of watching someone we know lose someone they love. I hope this will help you help them when the time comes.
   Disclaimer: These are based on my own experiences only. I cannot speak for others and I imagine that every experience with grief, while sharing some similar characteristics, is as unique as the person experiencing it. I also want to thank Christine Giles for her generous additions to this list, and her encouragement of me to share these thoughts as widely as possible.

The Dos, The Don’ts and The Whys
Don’t say: What can I do?
Do: Just do it. Bring them a meal, go grocery shopping for them, do their laundry, clean up their yard, put gas in their car, pick them up for church…you get the idea.
Why: In the hours, days, weeks and months after losing someone, your brain is totally frozen. You can barely function enough to put your clothes on right side out (that is, if you’ve even changed your clothes in the last few days), let alone make a complicated decision about what to eat for dinner. In truth, you don’t care what you eat for dinner. If you can accomplish eating at all, it will be a miracle.
Don’t say: Even if your mother was alive, she still wouldn’t be able to attend this important life event.
Do say: I know how much it would mean to you to have your mother here with you right now.
Why: This is absolutely the most insensitive thing anyone said to me in the year following my mother’s passing. I know this person was trying to be helpful, but physical distance doesn’t compare to death. In fact, nothing compares to death. Don’t pretend that it does.
Don’t say: I’ll be in touch. (And then not be in touch.)
Do: Call often. Email often. Text often. Stop by, if you can, for short visits. Only stay 20 minutes or so. Any more than that might be overwhelming and the person may be wishing you’d leave. Sometimes being alone and literally staring at the wall and crying is all your friend may be capable of.
Why: Even if the calls and emails and text messages are not returned, reading them and hearing them can be the thing that keeps your friend connected to reality.
Don’t: Compare your experience to theirs. Don’t say, “I know how you feel.”
Do say: I have also experienced a loss, and I am here if you want to talk about it.
Why: Not all losses are the same. Losing a child is nothing like losing a parent. The relationship, the time and manner of the loss, the family structure, are all unique. People said this to me and although I am confident they didn’t mean to, it left me feeling belittled.

What You Say, What I Hear, or Please Don’t Say This to Me
What you say: I wish you wouldn’t feel so sad/I don’t think focusing on grief will be helpful for you.
What I hear: Your feelings of grief are not justified, and you are overreacting.
What you say: This must be part of God’s plan.
What I hear: Your sadness shows a lack of faith.
What you say: He/she is still with you.
What I hear: If you just tried, you could still feel close to them.
…and yes, these are all things I heard.

What To Say When You Don’t Know What To Say
   Sometimes not knowing what to say can be the most uncomfortable feeling. It can feel like we are on a stage, with a spot light on us, and if we don’t come up with the right thing to say everyone will know! Gasp! There is no right thing to say to someone when they are grieving. Half of it goes in one ear and out the other, anyway. But for me, the small gestures, the text messages, the virtual “I’m here and I’m thinking about you” was the best thing anyone could have possibly done.
   Listen to whether your friend is using the past or present tense (my mom was, or my mom is). Follow their lead. They may not be ready to use the past tense yet. Try to say “passed away” or “gone” instead of “DEAD” or “DIED.” These words, for me, were like anvils on my heart. They still are. I feel much more comfortable with “left her life” or “left this life.” Saying my mother left this life sounds so much gentler and so much less gut-wrenching than saying my mother is dead. I know, it sounds like the same thing; but to me, it’s not.
   Give the person permission to say no. Invite them to do things, but say, “If you aren’t up to it, don’t worry, I just wanted you to know I am thinking of you.”
   Simply hearing the name of the person who has passed away can be music to their loved ones ears. Comforting, helpful things to say might include: I am thinking of you and Sarah; I’d like to share a memory of your daughter with you; Erika was such a patient, loving person, I feel lucky to have known her; We love you, and your mother.
   And if all else fails, and the words are frozen, “I am thinking about you,” will never fail. The best thing someone said to me: “Just boss me around. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.” My dear and wonderful best friend said this to me when it was time to pack my apartment to move to Denver, just a few days after my mother passed away. She gave me permission to tell her “pack this” or “do that” which is really what I needed at the time. It made her feel good to do something for me, and it made me feel less guilty for being bossy.
   The worst thing someone said to me (after the “she wouldn’t be in Colorado anyway” statement): After I told them I was reading a book about grief and going to a grief group, this person rolled his/her eyes and said, “This is just making you focus on being sad.” News flash: death, the person who died, and the overwhelming reality that I am never going to see her again (in this life, anyway) are all I can think about. Groups, books and websites helped to make me feel more normal. Or, at least, to know that what I was feeling was normal.

Moving Forward
   When painful things happen in life, we frequently have the desire to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and move on. Old hurts are hardly worth carrying with you, but can serve us best by becoming part of the tapestry of our past. Grief is different. A part of me will always be in the hospital room, permanently suspended in the moment of my mother’s passing. It is the last moment I spent with her, and should I be fortunate enough to live to old age, it has to carry me over for a long time until I see her again.
   Grief is not a process of moving on, but of moving forward. The task becomes not to forget or to hide, but to reestablish the way your loved one will fit in to your life from here on. They are never completely gone, but continue on in your heart as though they never left. Their presence and their memory are as much a part of your day, of your significant accomplishments, of your entire life, as they have always been. The special and close relationship you had with the person while they were physically here becomes the foundation for learning how to live without them, and the anchor that makes it possible for you to continue. The crippling sorrow does, eventually, subside. The memories bring a profound feeling of love for the person you have lost, for the time you spent together, and for the gift of their memory that you know will be yours forever.
   There were several months where I really questioned whether or not I would ever feel happy again. And when I did feel happiness again for the first time, and then consistently, and now mostly, I feel a deep sense of gratitude for the people who stood there feeling helpless and small, loving me in the best way they knew how.