A couple of years ago, a friend’s parent passed away. I was too afraid to talk to them. Didn’t want to say the wrong thing. Their grief was immeasurable, my words wouldn’t be enough and I was afraid of sounding hollow. “What to say to a friend who lost a parent?” I asked Google and it delivered. I called my friend, offered condolences, talked of my few interactions with his dad. Offered any immediate assistance with logistics, and followed through as best as I could. I wish I had done more, but did what I could.
About six months ago, I lost my grandmother – my father’s mother. This post had been brewing in my mind since then. But it took me six months to be able to talk about it. It can take longer for others. My one regret: I knew it was coming, and I wanted to see her one last time. But it didn’t happen. Damn COVID. Thus began my own journey with grief.
So what do you say to a friend who’s suffered a loss?
1. Call them.
Call. Don’t text. Call as soon as you know. They may not pick up your calls, but they’ll notice who called. Text or call them again, and if they don’t pick up, they text you to say they’ll call later, or completely ignore your calls, that’s their prerogative. Just say a few words with empathy whenever you do get to talk to them.
The best advice I got was it’s not about you, so your concerns about sounding hollow don’t matter much compared to their loss. But here’s the funny thing that I realized from my own experience. The first couple of days, I wanted to talk. I wanted people to reach out to me. I noticed who called, but I also didn’t want to talk to everyone. I only talked to the most empathetic people even in my inner circle. It was a bit of a wake-up call to me. It reminded me to be kind to others, even in ordinary situations.
2. Ask Questions. Listen.
Ask what happened, and how it happened. Especially in the first two days, they’re still processing what happened. There may be a lot of guilt, second-guessing and anger involved. Listen, let them talk. There will be a lot of processing through repetition. Respond with kindness. If you have been invited to be a part of this inner circle, this is not the time to lose that spot by saying something that is very logical but something that minimizes their grief. Grief doesn’t subscribe to logic. Please, be empathetic for those first few days. I don’t remember a word of what my husband and most kind friends said to me. I just remember the comfort and love I felt in their audience. With one friend, I just remember walking in circles around my kitchen island, talking and talking, but not a word of what was said. But I do remember what one very logical, dear but not super-empathetic friend said to me. Needless to say, my conversation with them was short.
3. Offer Logistical Help.
Drop off food. Help with any funerals or memorial services. Start a meal train. Drive them. Go on walks with them. In my case, many of these things didn’t apply. But they will be needed and appreciated.
4. Spread the word with their persmission.
They may not be able to call everyone. They may want to take their time to relay the news. But ask them if they’d like you to inform other friends if they’re not able to. This of course, depends on how close you are.
5. Show up for the funeral, if you can (making your safety a priority is ok too)
My grandmother’s last rites were performed at the peak of a COVID wave. There was a streak of ambulances screeching their way into the funeral home as we watched. We were lucky we even received her mortal remains. It was my grieving family on the ground with rest of us on a video call. We didn’t expect anybody else to show up. But a couple of cousins did. And that meant the world to my dad. It lifted him up in one of the lowest moments of his life. It was humanity at it’s best.
6. This is not a time to hold grudges
During the grieving process, they may say something unreasonable. They may be bitter, inconsiderate, or just plain thoughtless. As long as they’re not explicitly insulting you, this is not a time to read between the lines to hold grudges. If they do hurt your feelings, you can withdraw from the conversation and bring it up later. Grieving is not a license to be a jerk, but even the most sane people can potentially act insane. The sane will hopefully make up for it later, but the stress of having to apologize or explain themselves at this stage will only cause more hurt.
What not to say to a grieving friend?
1. Don’t minimize their loss
“But it ended her suffering.”
“It could have been much worse.”
And with Covid – “At least the others in the family are safe.”
These are all perfectly logical arguments. But we’re grieving their absence, their sudden disappearance and the lack of their existence. It’s about the void they left. Don’t lose sight of that fact in your anxious attempts to comfort them.
2. Move on.
I remember reading this very touching article about someone who lost their parent, and how much of a big jerk they were as their grieved. They were a pain to be around as they wallowed in self-pity. At the end of the day, losing a parent is different from losing a grandparent, so I may not have been a complete jerk. But I was pretty whiny and slightly obnoxious. It’s exhausting to comfort a griever. So maybe you’re at a point where you think they need to move on. You have had enough, and you may not be feeling it anymore. But you’re not them. I’m not a psychologist but if it’s been a couple of months and they are avoiding social situations, they may need an intervention. But otherwise, go with that Mantra – Don’t say anything if you can’t say something nice.
3. “Wow, she was 90? Well, it was time, don’t you think?” (Or something to that effect)
Our grandma went at a ripe age of 88. But it still hurt. She lived with our family, since our childhood well into our adulthood. She was like a third parent. One who spoilt us much more and was more accepting of us than our parents. She is as much a part of our identity as our parents and siblings are. She was the sounding board and a pillar of support for our mother. She was the first independent woman we knew that inspired us to walk our own path. She was much more than our grandma, but she was always only grandma to her 9 grandkids. If you have been fortunate enough to have a healthy grandparent live with you, you get it. It doesn’t matter if she was 118, it will still hurt. It’s hard to convert a person into a memory.
So how did I cope? I am supremely thankful to my husband and my friends who lent an ear, especially my best friend, who was there, before and after. Even those who may not have said the right things. The one week before and after was terrible. But adulthood, not being able to travel for a funeral, and having my own life here, made it easier to go on, even though a closure was missing. Finally about four months after the funeral, I did get to travel home. She had a left a piece of her jewelry for each of her grandkids. And I brought it with me. I wear it all the time now. I may take it off later, but it’s a piece of her that I own, that I can touch. It’s my closure. Even six months after the fact, it’s still a tender wound. But it is getting better. There is no angst or guilt, and there is acceptance. Just a sense of loss and memories. But also gratitude for being a part of her life. Of having known her. Of being loved by her. Of having loved her and always loving her.
