Say This (or Don't Say This) to a Griever
A few suggestions . . .
In a bereavement call I made to a woman grieving her husband’s death, she abruptly stated, “I never like it when someone asks, ‘How are you doing?’”
Whew.
I was glad I hadn’t posed that question to her, though I’ll bet the majority of my calls included a variation of that simple four-word query. She said she didn’t like the question because the answer was too obvious: she was feeling lousy, terrible, horrible, and sometimes worse . . . thank you very much. She easily cried and knew she needed to cry and didn’t want to cry. She missed her husband and the illness that took his life was unexpected and unfair. Dealing with dying and death and grief were all inevitable events she’d prefer to avoid.
But she couldn’t.
After all, no one skips death. Whether you have a relatively brief or a lifetime relationship with another—and it’s mostly a healthy, good, nurturing bond between two loving people—someone’s gonna die first.
After a death, some don’t want to talk. Some must. Some cry if you make eye contact with them. Some never cry. Some never want to return to work. Some immediately plunge back into their jobs. Grieving is not a one-size-fits-all response. But if a friend wants to share about a loved one, what can be done? If you settle down into a chair beside them, what can you say?
A few thoughts . . .
Would you like to take a walk? Or go for coffee? Or sit for a spell in your backyard? Or head for a local bakery? Impossible when you phone/text/email, but any of these options can work in person. Being with another is sacred.
I’d like to spend time with you. In person, or on the phone, the conversation will likely include healthy silent time. Silence is fine. And please mention the name of the mutual friend/family member who died. Often people stop speaking the person’s name. Keep the shared stories alive.
Can I swing by a moment and bring . . . a casserole or blanket or scarf or bottle of wine or puzzle or anything that is truly appropriate to that particular friend. Bringing a relevant object provides the excuse for knocking on the door. Entering a grieving person’s home provides an opportunity for sharing and listening.
Once I asked a woman grieving the death of her husband, “How did you two meet?” For the next twenty minutes I heard the funny, revealing story about their courtship. And so . . . ask specific questions! If you want to ask about the kids or grandkids, use the names. Each child is different.
And sometimes, especially when you take time for the person’s answer, asking, “How are you doing?” will be just fine. It can start a life-giving chat.
(Notice how all of the above are being initiated by the friend or family member of the griever?)
There are several things I NEVER say to another:
I know how you’re feeling. But I don’t. I really, really don’t.
Call me if you need anything. No! Someone who is grieving needs you to call them!
It was his/her time. How could I ever know that?
This was God’s plan. Sorry, I don’t think God schemes to create our misery.
Time will heal. Of course it will, but right now time’s a beast.
Any version of any phrase that includes “At least.” At least you still have your health. At least he didn’t suffer longer. At least your house is paid for. At least she left you with good memories . . .
Unless asked, resist advice-giving*. The article you read in Good Housekeeping while at the doctor’s office or on the web or what the friend of a friend said after their great-grandfather died is rarely worth repeating. (Which is to say, maybe you should ignore my suggestions . . . or at least be careful with them!)
What do you think are the best, or worst, things to say to a grieving friend or family member?
++++++++++
My book, A Companion for the Hospice Journey is available at Amazon.
*Of all the advice I’ve given, the resist advice-giving has probably gotten the most push-back. In the grief groups I led, there were usually a few participants who shared about helpful advice given to them . . . sometimes from people they knew and trusted, sometimes from strangers.
The night my husband died, I was still in shock but wanted to be alone… sent my kids home. The new neighbor next door I’d never actually met but just a wave now and then… knocked on my door. She had a bottle of wine and two glasses ( she’d heard the fire/emt trucks, the news circulating our cul de sac) and asked if I’d share it with her. That’s all she said and I answered yes. Got two hours she sat and listened to me. I’ll never forget that night…sharing my life with a stranger. I learned that listening in silence is the best gift a grieving person needs. She was an Angel helping to get me thru the night. It’s been ten years and now I’ve taken wine to folks and asked would they share it with me; then zipped my lips.
Similar to “how are you doing” is “are you doing ok?” (What does that even mean? What does “doing ok” even look like?)
A story.
While I was a puddle of skin on my couch after my mom died, someone sent me some food. The thought was nice, but this person sent something that I’m allergic to. I never told them that I couldn’t eat what they sent. I know they were just making an executive decision for me, but I really couldn’t stomach what they sent, which set off a whole avalanche of guilt amongst my grief. (I ate it anyway, and the stomach pains promptly started.)
A better approach would have been to ask “what would you like to eat right now?”, to which I would have answered, “All the mac and cheese in the world.”
So, I’m sticking with the “What would you like to eat right now?” as a support question for others.