In the days, weeks, and months after my husband Jamie died, I kept a running list of the tone-deaf, unintentionally hurtful things that people said to me. The comparisons of the death of a spouse to going through a divorce, the myriad sentences that started with “at least ...,” and each time someone told me that everything happens for a reason.
I thought I’d publish that list in a book someday; how clever! Turns out, I’m hardly the first person to have that idea. There are plenty of memoir chapters, entire books, and YouTube videos dedicated to the things people shouldn’t say to someone who’s grieving.
Looking back, I realize I was keeping track of those comments out of desperation—I needed to put my anger over losing Jamie somewhere! What I didn’t realize at the time was that the folks who were brave enough to say or do something, even if that thing missed the mark, were trying their best.
This Saturday marks six years since Jamie’s death. As time goes on, I find myself reflecting more often on the helpful things that people did. Anytime a friend loses someone close to them, I think back to those dark days of early grief. What was comforting to me? What made me feel loved? What was especially useful?
I remember a coworker, who asked ahead of my return to the office if I was the type of person who wanted to talk about my grief or needed space. I remember the neighbor who told me, “I have no words, because there aren’t any. But I’m here and I’m so sorry.” I remember my friends who would text me to check in, always adding, “There’s no pressure to respond to this.”
I remember the letters and messages that contained specific memories of Jamie. What gifts! Each note felt like a little more time with the person I missed so much. I remember the unexpected gestures, like the very random but wonderful shipments of nuts I received each month. I remember the people who cried alongside me.
Six years is a long time, though, and I’m sad to admit that some of those memories have become hazy. Which is why I’d love to hear from all of you. What words or acts did you find especially comforting or helpful when you were grieving? I’d love to hear the gestures you remember fondly; perhaps, something a friend did for you that you now do when someone else is grieving.
Of course, we mourn so many more things than death. We grieve job layoffs, pregnancy losses, illnesses and diagnoses, too. I’d love to hear your stories from those tough times as well.
I never did publish that list of unintentionally hurtful things that people said. (I did, however, publish my own list of helpful things.) I know what it’s like to fear saying or doing the wrong thing, and I know how that fear can keep us from taking action. But not saying or doing anything often makes matters worse.
That’s why I’d like to create a list of the right things to say and do. Inspiration for those struggling to find thoughtful ways to care for loved ones going through a difficult time. A resource to guide us when we’re afraid of reaching out. How were you loved and supported in times of grief?
Our son worked at a high end small sushi restaurant owned by the parents of his best friend(who happened to be a girl). Our son Ben was engaged to his love Lisa. They had moved into an apartment together 10 months before a fire claimed both of their lives. On the worst day of our lives, Ben's friend came over with tons of food prepared by her Dad. Dang coming up on 5 years, and I am crying just remembering her making sure we ate as she was devastated as well. She continued to bring meals for a couple of weeks. Sharing hugs. Another friend of my wife's would just come and sit and cry with her.
I appreciated everyone checking in on me but a lot of the times I just wanted to be left alone. I think the most memorable things I remember when the passing of my mom was super fresh (it'll be two months tomorrow) was:
- My younger cousin (only by a year or two) who held my hand during a prayer around my mom's body, and after the prayer he didn't let go. He kept holding my hand, but didn't say anything to me. That meant the world to me. Not to have to talk or say cookie-cutter words or hear mannerisms. Just that he decided by himself to keep holding my hand. I loved that, and it anchored me a bit in such a surreal situation.
- The pastor we asked to help with the service from the church we all used to attend years ago (my family went there for decades, but this man is new and we've never met him) was so so kind. He pretty much gave us therapy. His calls were different. They were check-in calls like everyone else's, but he has so many words of wisdom. My dad and I were (and I still am, at least) working though anger and accepting the choices mom made for her life. He said things that stuck with us both to help us come to terms with it. And I love that he checked in so much before the service, after, and even now... He'll check in and call once every few weeks and I appreciate his words and very subtle check ins and that he's still thinking of us.
- And finally, my dad's old frat brother that I had never met or heard anything about (I think they'd send messages here and there to each other) messaged my dad when he received the news and said he was flying down, renting a car, and would be our mule. Whatever we needed, he'd do. If he was in the way, kick him out of the way (ahaha! Literally! He said that!). He told us he was absolutely at our service for whatever we needed.
He ended up taking us to the funeral home for the service, packing flowers into the car, watching the door before the service started, driving us to my grandma's for a short cozy visit, and then home and helped us unpack the cards, flowers, obituaries, etc.
It was so nice of him to just be there for anything we needed.
It's been 14 months since my husband died,and the one person who has steadfastly been my rock is my dad- one of the things he did for me, in the dark early days,is take me on long walks in my neighborhood.We would walk in silence or he would chat with neighbours and all I had strength to do was listen and be comforted with sounds of other humans-grief was and is terribly lonely.
Those long walks have helped me immensely to process my pain,and make new friends as well.I needed the assurance of his silent company to help me do this.
Also may I add Katie - this thread has been such a wonderful read,full of hope and beauty of human nature.Thank you for shining your light on your fellow bereaved, lots of warm hugs to you!
“Do you want to be left alone?” I was amazed at how often bereaved people were not often asked this. Most of them times we were often bombarded with people’s physical presence, asking things, etc. We get that they mean well, but sometimes we don’t want to talk, we don’t want to sit down with you, we just want to be left alone for a while, and we will go find you when we are ready.
Grief. The trauma and shock! The first 30 days of shock and anxiety, fear, helplessness, overwhelmed. I call it the “darkest darkness, our early grief days” We only knew deep love & suddenly, that turns to deep grief. I have had many losses,sadly, I had a few in a row. I sought support & help immediately . You asked, What helps? A warm, long, loving hug. Hearing, I love you & I am so sorry goes along way. Having support around you is comforting . Someone brings you a hot meal, a Big, large one to feed many. Paper plates and plastic utensils ! I adore a text saying, I’m thinking of YOU. I picked up soup for you…or, Can I call you? Can I bring essentials or run errands for you? Simple, organic, gentle love, reaching out consistently. All that helps us breathe and survive another day, grieving the one we love and lost. The process…. Is slow, gentle, steps. Time is essential to adjust. There are many steps. There is no finish line. I learned over time, that there is hope and healing. the first months, are very difficult, that is expected and normal. Find a good grief group or therapist to support and help you navigate this journey of grief. Hugs to all who need one. -leelee
Of all the love woven through my life’s myriad of losses one example stands far above the others.The summer after my husband my daughter was four. We had no family near by. We were blessed, however, to live in a beautiful, small, rural, coastal community. A friend I knew only casually lived and worked close by at a well established United Methodist camp. That summer my friend regularly invited us to “stop by and have dinner at camp”. We sat at the staff table, being welcomed as campers. No awkwardness, no explanations needed.I’m forever indebted.
When the palliative care nurses came to our house the day after my husbdand died to get some the equipment they’d leant us, one of the nurses looked me in the eye and said “you did a really really good job looking after him”. Still makes me so grateful to this day.
The first thing I thought of, because I keep it on my altar, is something my sister made me when I lost one of my cats. She created a pattern and hand sewed a stuffie of a black cat with white angel wings, even matching the color of her eyes. So much love in that little stuffed cat.
My mother is spending the last weeks? months? of her life in a memory care unit under the care of a hospice team. My friends are extraordinary. The things that have helped me the most are: "You are brave enough, strong enough, good enough, to survive this." "You are not alone." And, most of all, as I process my feelings of guilt, grief, anger, shame, and all the other complicated feelings many of us have for members of our family of origin, validation of all those complicated messy feelings. "Of course you feel those things. Who wouldn't in your position?" This is so immensely comforting, as though I'm not screwing up the grieving process is some terrible, shameful way! Another helpful thing -- "It's not your fault." I don't know why we so often feel we should have, could have done something to prevent a tragedy, but I usually do feel that way. If only ... When a friend looks me in the eye and reminds me, "It's not your fault," I feel so relieved. Grief is enough. I don't want to carry guilt as well.
My mom died, almost 30 years ago, suddenly and it was not expected at all. A simple, "I'm sorry" goes a very long way.
People brought food, we had too much food. One of my uncles brought us toilet paper, and other household items we might need, as there were a lot of people there. That was such a thoughtful gesture.
Doing a resource guide is a great idea Katie. I guess with any kind of grief that someone may be going through, just reaching out and asking how you are doing is a good step. Find out if the person needs anything. When you know that someone is thinking about you and your pain, it helps. For me anyway.
My dearest Mom fell over a year ago and now has a traumatic brain injury, rendering her a different personality who can’t walk and is 90% reliant on assistance to do most tasks. Some of the nicest support I got was to from friends who checked in on me and her progress during the long 4 months hospital and rehab stint I did with her. Friends encouraged me to talk to her like nothing had changed, it was so hard. Almost 1,5 years later and my Moms brain is still healing and her memory is still improving. Despite her personality changes, she can look me in the eye and tell me how much she loves me. Some of the advice I got included making a type of shrine / holy space for my Mom. So I placed a candle, a vase with flowers and one of her ornate broaches next to my bed. Each night I would light a candle and meditate / pray on Mom and for her to have peace. This ritual brought me some comfort in my darkest and most lonely times. I still have a picture of that shrine.
My dad was in a serious accident a few years ago (pre-Covid). In those first hours, all we knew was that it was serious, but had no prognosis. Myself, my mom, and all three of my siblings made it to the hospital within hours. But one of the things that I remember most is that a close family friend and her daughter both also showed up to the hospital that evening, just to check in, keep us company, and see how we were. They didn’t ask if we wanted them to come. They just said they were on their way and showed up. It was so nice to have another friendly face there in that stressful time.
Two things stick out for me from when my Mum died. I was 22 at the time, the eldest of 4 kids (20, 17 and 11). My extended family really stepped up during the time she was sick (which was about three weeks in total), especially looking after my younger sister so she was shielded from a lot of it, but I had one cousin who I will forever be grateful for. We were doing a lot of waiting in the hospital, hopefully at first but then eventually waiting for the inevitable. I had never been close to him before this but he was there constantly. He is a really funny guy and he helped my brother and I so much by just being there, and being a steady presence when so many people around us were falling apart. The other was one of my Mum's closest friends and her family. They had us over for dinner once a week for over 5 years....it was a come as you please type scenario. I will never be able to repay them for their generosity. It meant so much to us, but I truly think it saved my Dad.
When my dad died, I tried any coping skill anyone had. Most didn’t help at all. What did help was something I came across that, and I wish I could remember the source, but it was to the effect of “You only really die when the last person who remembers you exist forgets your name.”
In that vein, Jamie lives on through everyone you talk to about him. Physically Jamie may be gone but his influence, his values, and the things he helped build are still very much with us, and you walking us through your grief in an effort to help us with ours is another gift, as painful as it is.
Jan 31, 2023·edited Jan 31, 2023Liked by Katie Hawkins-Gaar
The last time I saw my father alive was at my youngest sister's wedding. He died six weeks later of a heart attack. At the time, I had a second job as a caterer. We catered A LOT of weddings. One of the women I worked with would, right before the father/daughter dance (seems like it was ALWAYS "Daddy's Little Girl", which was the song they had danced to), make me a drink and send me away. She never made a big deal about it, just gave me the space I needed at a tough time.
In hindsight, it was better than having me sob around wedding guests, but just a small thing that meant so much to me.
After my divorce I cherished anyone who acknowledged that complicated loss, in any way.
I kept every card people sent and dried at least one flower from every bouquet. Friends sent playlists. Showed up with a whole bakery of pastries when I was too mopey to leave the house for brunch.
I also had a friend that was so good at dragging me out of the house in the days of deep grief. One day, on a long hike, I was craving Orangjna. The next week, a whole case of Orangina showed up at my house.
A particularly loved one card that said: “It’s a lot. One day it will feel like less. For now, you’re killing it with the home renovations.”
The question that was most helpful to me was a question that my wife and I asked each other every night after we lost our son - "How's your heart today?"
It helped us to communicate through a ridiculously difficult season in our lives, keep in touch with one another even though we had different grief journeys, and really, helped us to grow together.
In the midst of a long and harrowing infertility journey, a couple of my friends have announced their pregnancies to me via text instead of in person or over the phone, and have added things like, "take as long as you want to respond," or "however you feel about this is ok."
Jan 31, 2023·edited Jan 31, 2023Liked by Katie Hawkins-Gaar
While my dad was sick in the hospital, during what turned out to be his last few days, a classmate of mine who was interning at the hospital took time away from her placement to come up to his room and check in on my family and me to see if we needed anything. That same classmate bought me a birthday cake the next week (my dad died four days before my 18th birthday) because I had mentioned not getting a cake at home, for obvious reasons. We were never close and I don't see her much anymore but think about those two small acts from time to time and am overwhelmed with gratitude for her and so many others in my life at that time.
Several years ago we had to euthanize our black lab, Jody. A close friend, Mark, knew of our plans and came over the night before to say good-bye. When we got home from the vet's we found Mark and another good friend Dave in our back yard, digging Jody's grave. Mark carved a headstone, inscribed, "Here lies Jody, a good friend."
You will find a NEW strength, a NEW peace, a NEW happiness. I read this somewhere. It gave me hope when my heart had been smashed to a million pieces. The OLD me died with my brother - I had to learn a NEW way of living without him.
FWIW I’m the last survivor of my family generation and I’ve probably got a couple of months survival time (kidney failure) does it. I’m 83 so there’s no surprise here and my kids and their kids have wept profusely from the news. I can and have wept with them but death doesn’t scare me. At least not yet. I’ve read a lot of NDE accounts and they all seem quite happy. Most of them mention continuous contact with survivors. I don’t suppose I’ll service them like the neighboring mower mentioned above, but I feel pretty confident that we can maintain contact at least.
Something that really helped me when I tragically lost my brother was my friend taking me out for coffee weekly. In a quiet corner of the coffee shop my angel friend listened - and listened - and listened. Quiet tears falling down my face as she held my hand. Listening is such a precious skill.
I have been grieving the loss of my dog in recent weeks. My dad and his wife (who live in another state) took one of my stuffed animals from growing up and put together a long email about his "journey" to try to come visit me to express his condolences--imagine various photos of an ET stuffed animal dressed up to go for a drive, counting up his pennies, working out on the treadmill, getting stuck in the snow. They even made a new email account for it so it came from "Extra Terrestrial." It was absurd and made me laugh so big and deep and loud when I really needed to.
I don’t have a close family member death story but about ten years ago, my body started going a bit haywire with CIDP... basically had to have IVIG for almost two years, relearn how to walk... it was.. debilitating. I’m ok now, as ok as ok gets in a new normal... but the biggest kindness was a neighbor just mowed my lawn for me. He didn’t ask what he could do or anything, he just quietly mowed it and trimmed. And when I was better and could mow myself, he stopped but that one kindness — entirely unexpected because we just were “wave hello” sort of neighbors — was ... crap, tearing up just thinking about it ... anyway... never know who is paying attention and who is just watching you.
I’ve tried to thank him, but he keeps changing the subject ... we just know and that’s enough...
I hope to be that kind someday to someone who needs it. Just handle it, no need for thanks, no need to credit... just be there when needed, to know when and how...
When I lost my brother three things stood out: my boss and another colleague attended his funeral - the didn’t try to spend a lot of time with me but they let me know they were there and they cared, my childhood best friend and her husband showed up tue next morning with s grocery haul of things we didn’t even realize we needed - sandwich fixings, toilet paper and water- it meant so much to us to be so cared for. Finally, a good friend whose more like family stayed with me the night things were going south so I wouldn’t be alone even surrounded by family. I needed my own person to lean on in my grief.
My closest group of college friends sent me a weighted blanket when my sister-in-law died unexpectedly. They said it was because they couldn't be there to hug me so the blanket was them hugging me from a distance. It was so thoughtful and sweet and now, every time I look at that blanket, I'm filled with feelings of warmth and love from my friends.
Reading this post and the comments is a reminder to me that we all have our moments of grief, it doesn't matter how strong we are. I have come to understand that in order for someone to heal and move forward, it is important for them to be acknowledged how they feel.I have also learned that it’s ok to not be “strong” all the time and to let ourselves feel these emotions. It is important for us to acknowledge our grief, sadness and anger as part of the process and eventually we can come out a better person on the other side.I believe that in this life we are here for each other, so if someone comes your way with a heavy heart - give them space, listen without judgement and validate their feelings.
I'm grateful for your post and appreciate everyone insights in dealing with grief. Thanks!
One wholly unexpected thing a friend asked me a few months after my loss was (after the habitual "How are you feeling?") "What are you feeling?" And he wanted to hear the answer.
My sister died the week before my son was born, and in those crazy early days of becoming a mother & losing my sibling (but having not a moment to grieve her), a friend came to visit. She insisted on talking my month-old baby out for a walk, so I could finally have some time to myself. It was the first time he’d been out without me, and I remember lying on my bed & crying my eyes out, for the first time. It felt like such a release, & I was so grateful to her. Sometimes, it’s these relatively small-scale acts that carry so much weight & meaning. Thank you for this post ❤️
Feb 7 marks 10 years since I became a 29 year old widow. And still the best advice came from my best friend, who told me it was important to still find joy everyday, even if for 5 seconds. It is part of my why my 5 year old’s name is Joy.
i just went through a breakup, and i felt so alone. i expected my mom to be cold about it because she had told me he was bad news. she thought i was making a stupid choice with him, but when she saw how hard it had been for me, she sat with me for hours late at night while i ugly cried myself to sleep. just her being there was so very helpful, and even tho it still hurts, i at least know who i can cry to.
I'm such a crier, my tears usually speak louder than my words. I actually have an upcoming post about this very subject that I've been writing since October. What I do think is nice is remembering to leave space for the person grieving to do the talking, about whatever they are able to offer. Being okay to simply listen and not fix it, because I can't fix it. But I can listen, and I can grieve with them. 💟
The biggest and most helpful support I received was people offering to take care of my son. My husband died 2 months ago and we have a 10-year old. Immediately after, I simply wanted to crumble and cry all day and night. My friends would pick him up and take him all day or even overnight. Knowing he was safe and in good company allowed me the freedom to freely grieve in the way I wanted to. I had to get it out and I wanted to do it alone and in my own way. I appreciate my friends for taking care of him and loving on him.
“Things will be great again.” - that’s the best thing anyone said to me after my husband Mike died six years ago. Our friend Wayne - who knew us well and had just spent time with us a few months before - knew my love for Mike, knew me, and knew our kids enough to know we would eventually be ok, and that life would take on a kind of greatness that seemed utterly impossible at that moment. This was a bold, brave statement! But I trusted Wayne, and he was right. I have a great life. A different great life than I was expecting with Mike, but a great life nonetheless. I am forever thankful for his words. They changed me.
There were so many, but it was especially the ones that weren't expected. The friend of my sister's who went out of her way to get my address and send me a card because she knew what it was like to lose a mother. My neighbor who brought my trash barrels up when I forgot them at the end of the driveway. The person who asked me a month later how I was doing. I sometimes think I don't know that person well enough I shouldn't say anything but weirdly those were the ones that were just so unexpectedly meaningful. Weirdly too, the overwhelming support and condolences on my FB photography page from hundreds of people I didn't know, many of whom I didn't even realize regularly followed my posts.
Grief ushers in a variety of strong emotions, and sometimes a grieving person needs to sit in silence to regain a semblance of peace. It was so hard to hear of Jamie's passing on Superbowl Sunday 6 yrs ago when I was 1,079 miles away in Boston.
I wish I could've done something, anything...
But I realized while It can be difficult to sit in silence, particularly when you know your friend is struggling with emotional pain. Resist the urge to fill the silence and make an effort to allow it space. Your presence is enough. By being there for your friend, you are showing your love and support, even if you sit quietly together and don’t say a word. Your silent presence may be more therapeutic than you realize.
Jan 31, 2023·edited Jan 31, 2023Liked by Katie Hawkins-Gaar
My mom told me many years ago not to be shy about talking about the person who's been lost to their grieving loved ones. We have an impulse to avoid mentioning the name because we don't want to upset them, but the thing is, we won't be reminding them of anything they're not already thinking about . In fact, by mentioning the person's name, we're acknowledging the feelings they carry around and letting them know they don't have to cover up their grief. I felt this so acutely when my mother died 3 years ago. I was so appreciative and grateful when people mentioned her, even if just to say, "I'm so sorry about your mom."
I want to keep her memory alive, so anyone who wants to talk about her is comforting me profoundly.
When my dad was in the step-down unit of a hospital and my grandma had just died (unrelated but happened within 24 hours of each other), some of my friends sent a snack basket to my parents’ house, where my whole family was staying. But they didn’t have that address and didn’t want to bother me… so they found it by cross-referencing voter data and real estate records from my hometown. (The benefit of having journalist friends!) The lengths they went to to find the address that would be most helpful, and to provide food that didn’t need cooked and could be taken in the car or to the hospital, was so sweet.
Sometimes I am amazed when I look back at the ways that certain people just showed up--their presence amidst the pain. A friend was on my doorstep just a couple of hours after I called her in the middle of the night to tell her the news of my partner's death (and someone she loved too!) I had a friend who went with me to pick up my partner's ashes and his death certificate. Like, what?! She just did it, and she did it with gentleness and love, and at least in front of me, she did it without discomfort. And then I think about my mom who slept in my bed with me for months so that I was not alone. We didn't really talk about anything, but she was there. I was not alone. Those raw, foggy, painful weeks and months after my partner died feel so surreal sometimes. And it is comforting to know I was not alone in them.
My Dad used to be really big on wishing friends and family a happy birthday on Facebook. He did the same thing for each person: he would find an image of a birthday cake with their name on it (usually something very poorly photoshopped!) and post it to their timeline (Wall? Newsfeed!? Whatever it's called nowadays 😂) It's a tradition he carried on for years—one that was well known and anticipated. If it was your birthday, you would get a cake and enthusiastic greeting from my Dad on Facebook.
After he died, one of his best, lifelong friends kept the tradition alive. He would post "personalized" birthday cakes on my Dad's friends' and family's timelines and sign them, "Courtesy of Jim Vitt." He did this for a whole year! As many of my Dad's friends befriended me on Facebook after he died, I had the pleasure of seeing these in my newsfeed often! It was so special and incredibly thoughtful.
Thanks for this, Katie. I haven’t experienced anything close to this type of grief, so I’ve nothing to add. But I am one of those people who doesn’t want to say the wrong thing and often says nothing instead. Today I’m going to reach out to a friend who lost her husband before the holidays. While I did send her a note when I learned of his death, I haven’t called her because she asked for time to grieve before anyone reached out. Maybe now is the right time.
Here’s another: It’s pretty commonplace to drop off a casserole or other meal when someone is grieving, but there were a few people who brought ingredients over to my house and cooked there. I still got fed, and enjoyed some much-needed company in the process. Grief can be so lonely, and that always was such a nice gesture.
One of the best things someone said to me was that they knew there was nothing they could say but they knew my mom is always with me. Not even spiritually but her memory is always with me. That helped me a lot.
Others that just showed up for me, those meant a lot and even my husband just being there for me before we got married while my mom was sick and going to pass on. That, I'll never forget either.
There are some good hearts in this world. I'm glad we have experienced them when we needed them the most. ❤️⚘️ thinking of you...
Our son worked at a high end small sushi restaurant owned by the parents of his best friend(who happened to be a girl). Our son Ben was engaged to his love Lisa. They had moved into an apartment together 10 months before a fire claimed both of their lives. On the worst day of our lives, Ben's friend came over with tons of food prepared by her Dad. Dang coming up on 5 years, and I am crying just remembering her making sure we ate as she was devastated as well. She continued to bring meals for a couple of weeks. Sharing hugs. Another friend of my wife's would just come and sit and cry with her.
I appreciated everyone checking in on me but a lot of the times I just wanted to be left alone. I think the most memorable things I remember when the passing of my mom was super fresh (it'll be two months tomorrow) was:
- My younger cousin (only by a year or two) who held my hand during a prayer around my mom's body, and after the prayer he didn't let go. He kept holding my hand, but didn't say anything to me. That meant the world to me. Not to have to talk or say cookie-cutter words or hear mannerisms. Just that he decided by himself to keep holding my hand. I loved that, and it anchored me a bit in such a surreal situation.
- The pastor we asked to help with the service from the church we all used to attend years ago (my family went there for decades, but this man is new and we've never met him) was so so kind. He pretty much gave us therapy. His calls were different. They were check-in calls like everyone else's, but he has so many words of wisdom. My dad and I were (and I still am, at least) working though anger and accepting the choices mom made for her life. He said things that stuck with us both to help us come to terms with it. And I love that he checked in so much before the service, after, and even now... He'll check in and call once every few weeks and I appreciate his words and very subtle check ins and that he's still thinking of us.
- And finally, my dad's old frat brother that I had never met or heard anything about (I think they'd send messages here and there to each other) messaged my dad when he received the news and said he was flying down, renting a car, and would be our mule. Whatever we needed, he'd do. If he was in the way, kick him out of the way (ahaha! Literally! He said that!). He told us he was absolutely at our service for whatever we needed.
He ended up taking us to the funeral home for the service, packing flowers into the car, watching the door before the service started, driving us to my grandma's for a short cozy visit, and then home and helped us unpack the cards, flowers, obituaries, etc.
It was so nice of him to just be there for anything we needed.
It's been 14 months since my husband died,and the one person who has steadfastly been my rock is my dad- one of the things he did for me, in the dark early days,is take me on long walks in my neighborhood.We would walk in silence or he would chat with neighbours and all I had strength to do was listen and be comforted with sounds of other humans-grief was and is terribly lonely.
Those long walks have helped me immensely to process my pain,and make new friends as well.I needed the assurance of his silent company to help me do this.
Also may I add Katie - this thread has been such a wonderful read,full of hope and beauty of human nature.Thank you for shining your light on your fellow bereaved, lots of warm hugs to you!
“Do you want to be left alone?” I was amazed at how often bereaved people were not often asked this. Most of them times we were often bombarded with people’s physical presence, asking things, etc. We get that they mean well, but sometimes we don’t want to talk, we don’t want to sit down with you, we just want to be left alone for a while, and we will go find you when we are ready.
Grief. The trauma and shock! The first 30 days of shock and anxiety, fear, helplessness, overwhelmed. I call it the “darkest darkness, our early grief days” We only knew deep love & suddenly, that turns to deep grief. I have had many losses,sadly, I had a few in a row. I sought support & help immediately . You asked, What helps? A warm, long, loving hug. Hearing, I love you & I am so sorry goes along way. Having support around you is comforting . Someone brings you a hot meal, a Big, large one to feed many. Paper plates and plastic utensils ! I adore a text saying, I’m thinking of YOU. I picked up soup for you…or, Can I call you? Can I bring essentials or run errands for you? Simple, organic, gentle love, reaching out consistently. All that helps us breathe and survive another day, grieving the one we love and lost. The process…. Is slow, gentle, steps. Time is essential to adjust. There are many steps. There is no finish line. I learned over time, that there is hope and healing. the first months, are very difficult, that is expected and normal. Find a good grief group or therapist to support and help you navigate this journey of grief. Hugs to all who need one. -leelee
Of all the love woven through my life’s myriad of losses one example stands far above the others.The summer after my husband my daughter was four. We had no family near by. We were blessed, however, to live in a beautiful, small, rural, coastal community. A friend I knew only casually lived and worked close by at a well established United Methodist camp. That summer my friend regularly invited us to “stop by and have dinner at camp”. We sat at the staff table, being welcomed as campers. No awkwardness, no explanations needed.I’m forever indebted.
When the palliative care nurses came to our house the day after my husbdand died to get some the equipment they’d leant us, one of the nurses looked me in the eye and said “you did a really really good job looking after him”. Still makes me so grateful to this day.
So much love in all these comments <3
The first thing I thought of, because I keep it on my altar, is something my sister made me when I lost one of my cats. She created a pattern and hand sewed a stuffie of a black cat with white angel wings, even matching the color of her eyes. So much love in that little stuffed cat.
On the day after my son's passing a good friend sent me and my partner a weeks Uber Eats gift so we wouldn't have to cook or clean up.
A fiend who is a spiritual priestess took me to the river and we ritualized his passing with water, herbs and prayer.
My mother is spending the last weeks? months? of her life in a memory care unit under the care of a hospice team. My friends are extraordinary. The things that have helped me the most are: "You are brave enough, strong enough, good enough, to survive this." "You are not alone." And, most of all, as I process my feelings of guilt, grief, anger, shame, and all the other complicated feelings many of us have for members of our family of origin, validation of all those complicated messy feelings. "Of course you feel those things. Who wouldn't in your position?" This is so immensely comforting, as though I'm not screwing up the grieving process is some terrible, shameful way! Another helpful thing -- "It's not your fault." I don't know why we so often feel we should have, could have done something to prevent a tragedy, but I usually do feel that way. If only ... When a friend looks me in the eye and reminds me, "It's not your fault," I feel so relieved. Grief is enough. I don't want to carry guilt as well.
My mom died, almost 30 years ago, suddenly and it was not expected at all. A simple, "I'm sorry" goes a very long way.
People brought food, we had too much food. One of my uncles brought us toilet paper, and other household items we might need, as there were a lot of people there. That was such a thoughtful gesture.
Doing a resource guide is a great idea Katie. I guess with any kind of grief that someone may be going through, just reaching out and asking how you are doing is a good step. Find out if the person needs anything. When you know that someone is thinking about you and your pain, it helps. For me anyway.
Hello everyone,
I posted my poem last night, The first line was wrong - my sincere apologies (I was tired). Here is my poem 🙏
Dim the lights
Mute the sound
Fade the edges all around
Talk in whispers
Hover by
Let me be
Don't ask me why
My dearest Mom fell over a year ago and now has a traumatic brain injury, rendering her a different personality who can’t walk and is 90% reliant on assistance to do most tasks. Some of the nicest support I got was to from friends who checked in on me and her progress during the long 4 months hospital and rehab stint I did with her. Friends encouraged me to talk to her like nothing had changed, it was so hard. Almost 1,5 years later and my Moms brain is still healing and her memory is still improving. Despite her personality changes, she can look me in the eye and tell me how much she loves me. Some of the advice I got included making a type of shrine / holy space for my Mom. So I placed a candle, a vase with flowers and one of her ornate broaches next to my bed. Each night I would light a candle and meditate / pray on Mom and for her to have peace. This ritual brought me some comfort in my darkest and most lonely times. I still have a picture of that shrine.
My dad was in a serious accident a few years ago (pre-Covid). In those first hours, all we knew was that it was serious, but had no prognosis. Myself, my mom, and all three of my siblings made it to the hospital within hours. But one of the things that I remember most is that a close family friend and her daughter both also showed up to the hospital that evening, just to check in, keep us company, and see how we were. They didn’t ask if we wanted them to come. They just said they were on their way and showed up. It was so nice to have another friendly face there in that stressful time.
Two things stick out for me from when my Mum died. I was 22 at the time, the eldest of 4 kids (20, 17 and 11). My extended family really stepped up during the time she was sick (which was about three weeks in total), especially looking after my younger sister so she was shielded from a lot of it, but I had one cousin who I will forever be grateful for. We were doing a lot of waiting in the hospital, hopefully at first but then eventually waiting for the inevitable. I had never been close to him before this but he was there constantly. He is a really funny guy and he helped my brother and I so much by just being there, and being a steady presence when so many people around us were falling apart. The other was one of my Mum's closest friends and her family. They had us over for dinner once a week for over 5 years....it was a come as you please type scenario. I will never be able to repay them for their generosity. It meant so much to us, but I truly think it saved my Dad.
When my dad died, I tried any coping skill anyone had. Most didn’t help at all. What did help was something I came across that, and I wish I could remember the source, but it was to the effect of “You only really die when the last person who remembers you exist forgets your name.”
In that vein, Jamie lives on through everyone you talk to about him. Physically Jamie may be gone but his influence, his values, and the things he helped build are still very much with us, and you walking us through your grief in an effort to help us with ours is another gift, as painful as it is.
The last time I saw my father alive was at my youngest sister's wedding. He died six weeks later of a heart attack. At the time, I had a second job as a caterer. We catered A LOT of weddings. One of the women I worked with would, right before the father/daughter dance (seems like it was ALWAYS "Daddy's Little Girl", which was the song they had danced to), make me a drink and send me away. She never made a big deal about it, just gave me the space I needed at a tough time.
In hindsight, it was better than having me sob around wedding guests, but just a small thing that meant so much to me.
After my divorce I cherished anyone who acknowledged that complicated loss, in any way.
I kept every card people sent and dried at least one flower from every bouquet. Friends sent playlists. Showed up with a whole bakery of pastries when I was too mopey to leave the house for brunch.
I also had a friend that was so good at dragging me out of the house in the days of deep grief. One day, on a long hike, I was craving Orangjna. The next week, a whole case of Orangina showed up at my house.
A particularly loved one card that said: “It’s a lot. One day it will feel like less. For now, you’re killing it with the home renovations.”
The question that was most helpful to me was a question that my wife and I asked each other every night after we lost our son - "How's your heart today?"
It helped us to communicate through a ridiculously difficult season in our lives, keep in touch with one another even though we had different grief journeys, and really, helped us to grow together.
In the midst of a long and harrowing infertility journey, a couple of my friends have announced their pregnancies to me via text instead of in person or over the phone, and have added things like, "take as long as you want to respond," or "however you feel about this is ok."
While my dad was sick in the hospital, during what turned out to be his last few days, a classmate of mine who was interning at the hospital took time away from her placement to come up to his room and check in on my family and me to see if we needed anything. That same classmate bought me a birthday cake the next week (my dad died four days before my 18th birthday) because I had mentioned not getting a cake at home, for obvious reasons. We were never close and I don't see her much anymore but think about those two small acts from time to time and am overwhelmed with gratitude for her and so many others in my life at that time.
Several years ago we had to euthanize our black lab, Jody. A close friend, Mark, knew of our plans and came over the night before to say good-bye. When we got home from the vet's we found Mark and another good friend Dave in our back yard, digging Jody's grave. Mark carved a headstone, inscribed, "Here lies Jody, a good friend."
You will find a NEW strength, a NEW peace, a NEW happiness. I read this somewhere. It gave me hope when my heart had been smashed to a million pieces. The OLD me died with my brother - I had to learn a NEW way of living without him.
FWIW I’m the last survivor of my family generation and I’ve probably got a couple of months survival time (kidney failure) does it. I’m 83 so there’s no surprise here and my kids and their kids have wept profusely from the news. I can and have wept with them but death doesn’t scare me. At least not yet. I’ve read a lot of NDE accounts and they all seem quite happy. Most of them mention continuous contact with survivors. I don’t suppose I’ll service them like the neighboring mower mentioned above, but I feel pretty confident that we can maintain contact at least.
Hello everyone,
Something that really helped me when I tragically lost my brother was my friend taking me out for coffee weekly. In a quiet corner of the coffee shop my angel friend listened - and listened - and listened. Quiet tears falling down my face as she held my hand. Listening is such a precious skill.
I have been grieving the loss of my dog in recent weeks. My dad and his wife (who live in another state) took one of my stuffed animals from growing up and put together a long email about his "journey" to try to come visit me to express his condolences--imagine various photos of an ET stuffed animal dressed up to go for a drive, counting up his pennies, working out on the treadmill, getting stuck in the snow. They even made a new email account for it so it came from "Extra Terrestrial." It was absurd and made me laugh so big and deep and loud when I really needed to.
I don’t have a close family member death story but about ten years ago, my body started going a bit haywire with CIDP... basically had to have IVIG for almost two years, relearn how to walk... it was.. debilitating. I’m ok now, as ok as ok gets in a new normal... but the biggest kindness was a neighbor just mowed my lawn for me. He didn’t ask what he could do or anything, he just quietly mowed it and trimmed. And when I was better and could mow myself, he stopped but that one kindness — entirely unexpected because we just were “wave hello” sort of neighbors — was ... crap, tearing up just thinking about it ... anyway... never know who is paying attention and who is just watching you.
I’ve tried to thank him, but he keeps changing the subject ... we just know and that’s enough...
I hope to be that kind someday to someone who needs it. Just handle it, no need for thanks, no need to credit... just be there when needed, to know when and how...
When I lost my brother three things stood out: my boss and another colleague attended his funeral - the didn’t try to spend a lot of time with me but they let me know they were there and they cared, my childhood best friend and her husband showed up tue next morning with s grocery haul of things we didn’t even realize we needed - sandwich fixings, toilet paper and water- it meant so much to us to be so cared for. Finally, a good friend whose more like family stayed with me the night things were going south so I wouldn’t be alone even surrounded by family. I needed my own person to lean on in my grief.
My closest group of college friends sent me a weighted blanket when my sister-in-law died unexpectedly. They said it was because they couldn't be there to hug me so the blanket was them hugging me from a distance. It was so thoughtful and sweet and now, every time I look at that blanket, I'm filled with feelings of warmth and love from my friends.
Reading this post and the comments is a reminder to me that we all have our moments of grief, it doesn't matter how strong we are. I have come to understand that in order for someone to heal and move forward, it is important for them to be acknowledged how they feel.I have also learned that it’s ok to not be “strong” all the time and to let ourselves feel these emotions. It is important for us to acknowledge our grief, sadness and anger as part of the process and eventually we can come out a better person on the other side.I believe that in this life we are here for each other, so if someone comes your way with a heavy heart - give them space, listen without judgement and validate their feelings.
I'm grateful for your post and appreciate everyone insights in dealing with grief. Thanks!
One wholly unexpected thing a friend asked me a few months after my loss was (after the habitual "How are you feeling?") "What are you feeling?" And he wanted to hear the answer.
It was unexpected and unusual and, well, lovely.
My sister died the week before my son was born, and in those crazy early days of becoming a mother & losing my sibling (but having not a moment to grieve her), a friend came to visit. She insisted on talking my month-old baby out for a walk, so I could finally have some time to myself. It was the first time he’d been out without me, and I remember lying on my bed & crying my eyes out, for the first time. It felt like such a release, & I was so grateful to her. Sometimes, it’s these relatively small-scale acts that carry so much weight & meaning. Thank you for this post ❤️
Feb 7 marks 10 years since I became a 29 year old widow. And still the best advice came from my best friend, who told me it was important to still find joy everyday, even if for 5 seconds. It is part of my why my 5 year old’s name is Joy.
i just went through a breakup, and i felt so alone. i expected my mom to be cold about it because she had told me he was bad news. she thought i was making a stupid choice with him, but when she saw how hard it had been for me, she sat with me for hours late at night while i ugly cried myself to sleep. just her being there was so very helpful, and even tho it still hurts, i at least know who i can cry to.
I'm such a crier, my tears usually speak louder than my words. I actually have an upcoming post about this very subject that I've been writing since October. What I do think is nice is remembering to leave space for the person grieving to do the talking, about whatever they are able to offer. Being okay to simply listen and not fix it, because I can't fix it. But I can listen, and I can grieve with them. 💟
The biggest and most helpful support I received was people offering to take care of my son. My husband died 2 months ago and we have a 10-year old. Immediately after, I simply wanted to crumble and cry all day and night. My friends would pick him up and take him all day or even overnight. Knowing he was safe and in good company allowed me the freedom to freely grieve in the way I wanted to. I had to get it out and I wanted to do it alone and in my own way. I appreciate my friends for taking care of him and loving on him.
“Things will be great again.” - that’s the best thing anyone said to me after my husband Mike died six years ago. Our friend Wayne - who knew us well and had just spent time with us a few months before - knew my love for Mike, knew me, and knew our kids enough to know we would eventually be ok, and that life would take on a kind of greatness that seemed utterly impossible at that moment. This was a bold, brave statement! But I trusted Wayne, and he was right. I have a great life. A different great life than I was expecting with Mike, but a great life nonetheless. I am forever thankful for his words. They changed me.
There were so many, but it was especially the ones that weren't expected. The friend of my sister's who went out of her way to get my address and send me a card because she knew what it was like to lose a mother. My neighbor who brought my trash barrels up when I forgot them at the end of the driveway. The person who asked me a month later how I was doing. I sometimes think I don't know that person well enough I shouldn't say anything but weirdly those were the ones that were just so unexpectedly meaningful. Weirdly too, the overwhelming support and condolences on my FB photography page from hundreds of people I didn't know, many of whom I didn't even realize regularly followed my posts.
Grief ushers in a variety of strong emotions, and sometimes a grieving person needs to sit in silence to regain a semblance of peace. It was so hard to hear of Jamie's passing on Superbowl Sunday 6 yrs ago when I was 1,079 miles away in Boston.
I wish I could've done something, anything...
But I realized while It can be difficult to sit in silence, particularly when you know your friend is struggling with emotional pain. Resist the urge to fill the silence and make an effort to allow it space. Your presence is enough. By being there for your friend, you are showing your love and support, even if you sit quietly together and don’t say a word. Your silent presence may be more therapeutic than you realize.
My mom told me many years ago not to be shy about talking about the person who's been lost to their grieving loved ones. We have an impulse to avoid mentioning the name because we don't want to upset them, but the thing is, we won't be reminding them of anything they're not already thinking about . In fact, by mentioning the person's name, we're acknowledging the feelings they carry around and letting them know they don't have to cover up their grief. I felt this so acutely when my mother died 3 years ago. I was so appreciative and grateful when people mentioned her, even if just to say, "I'm so sorry about your mom."
I want to keep her memory alive, so anyone who wants to talk about her is comforting me profoundly.
When my dad was in the step-down unit of a hospital and my grandma had just died (unrelated but happened within 24 hours of each other), some of my friends sent a snack basket to my parents’ house, where my whole family was staying. But they didn’t have that address and didn’t want to bother me… so they found it by cross-referencing voter data and real estate records from my hometown. (The benefit of having journalist friends!) The lengths they went to to find the address that would be most helpful, and to provide food that didn’t need cooked and could be taken in the car or to the hospital, was so sweet.
Sometimes I am amazed when I look back at the ways that certain people just showed up--their presence amidst the pain. A friend was on my doorstep just a couple of hours after I called her in the middle of the night to tell her the news of my partner's death (and someone she loved too!) I had a friend who went with me to pick up my partner's ashes and his death certificate. Like, what?! She just did it, and she did it with gentleness and love, and at least in front of me, she did it without discomfort. And then I think about my mom who slept in my bed with me for months so that I was not alone. We didn't really talk about anything, but she was there. I was not alone. Those raw, foggy, painful weeks and months after my partner died feel so surreal sometimes. And it is comforting to know I was not alone in them.
My Dad used to be really big on wishing friends and family a happy birthday on Facebook. He did the same thing for each person: he would find an image of a birthday cake with their name on it (usually something very poorly photoshopped!) and post it to their timeline (Wall? Newsfeed!? Whatever it's called nowadays 😂) It's a tradition he carried on for years—one that was well known and anticipated. If it was your birthday, you would get a cake and enthusiastic greeting from my Dad on Facebook.
After he died, one of his best, lifelong friends kept the tradition alive. He would post "personalized" birthday cakes on my Dad's friends' and family's timelines and sign them, "Courtesy of Jim Vitt." He did this for a whole year! As many of my Dad's friends befriended me on Facebook after he died, I had the pleasure of seeing these in my newsfeed often! It was so special and incredibly thoughtful.
Thanks for this, Katie. I haven’t experienced anything close to this type of grief, so I’ve nothing to add. But I am one of those people who doesn’t want to say the wrong thing and often says nothing instead. Today I’m going to reach out to a friend who lost her husband before the holidays. While I did send her a note when I learned of his death, I haven’t called her because she asked for time to grieve before anyone reached out. Maybe now is the right time.
Here’s another: It’s pretty commonplace to drop off a casserole or other meal when someone is grieving, but there were a few people who brought ingredients over to my house and cooked there. I still got fed, and enjoyed some much-needed company in the process. Grief can be so lonely, and that always was such a nice gesture.
One of the best things someone said to me was that they knew there was nothing they could say but they knew my mom is always with me. Not even spiritually but her memory is always with me. That helped me a lot.
Others that just showed up for me, those meant a lot and even my husband just being there for me before we got married while my mom was sick and going to pass on. That, I'll never forget either.
There are some good hearts in this world. I'm glad we have experienced them when we needed them the most. ❤️⚘️ thinking of you...