{"id":1472,"date":"2024-10-13T11:40:22","date_gmt":"2024-10-13T11:40:22","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/retirednurseblog.com\/index.php\/2024\/10\/13\/5-things-not-to-say-to-a-grieving-friend\/"},"modified":"2024-10-13T11:40:22","modified_gmt":"2024-10-13T11:40:22","slug":"5-things-not-to-say-to-a-grieving-friend","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/retirednurseblog.com\/index.php\/2024\/10\/13\/5-things-not-to-say-to-a-grieving-friend\/","title":{"rendered":"5 things not to say to a grieving friend"},"content":{"rendered":"

It\u2019s almost impossible to know what to say to someone in the throes of grief. We all want to say something comforting. Very few of us know what that is. <\/p>\n

I\u2019ve learned this the hard way. My beloved husband of 23 years died at the end of July, two years after being diagnosed with stage IV pancreatic cancer. Since then, I\u2019ve seen friends and neighbors struggle for the right words, and I\u2019ve been surprised by how even the kindest questions can set me off. <\/p>\n

There\u2019s no one right answer, of course. What is helpful for me may not work for someone else, and words that I find off-putting may be the perfect balm for another person. Still, trading notes with a few grieving people, including my own children, I\u2019ve found some helpful do\u2019s and five unexpected don\u2019ts. <\/p>\n

No. 1: \u2018How are you?\u2019<\/h2>\n

You\u2019d be surprised how loaded this basic question can feel. A caring friend wants to know how you\u2019re doing. What could possibly be wrong with that? <\/p>\n

The problem, my kids and I realized, is that it\u2019s a near-impossible question to answer. Our feelings of grief change by the hour, sometimes by the minute, so there\u2019s no answer that will stand the test of time. Do you mean how am I this very second?  I can answer that, but my answer might change a second later.  Do you mean how are we coping in life?  The answer is, we don\u2019t know yet. <\/p>\n

We find it easier to answer less overarching questions, such as, how was college drop-off? How was the first day of school? How was dinner last night? Specific questions are less challenging than existential ones. <\/p>\n

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<\/div>\n
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Alisyn Camerota and her husband, Tim Lewis, on their last vacation, three months before his death.<\/span> <\/div>
Courtesy Alisyn Camerota<\/figcaption><\/div>\n<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

No. 2: \u2018How can I help?\u2019<\/h2>\n

I\u2019ve had to dig deep to figure out why this generous question from well-meaning friends doesn\u2019t sit right. I think it\u2019s because it puts the onus on the griever to help the helper. The helper wants to figure something out \u2013 but those of us who are grieving are in no position to help. We often can\u2019t articulate, and might not even know, what we want or need. <\/p>\n

Here\u2019s something that worked really well: neighbors who, without asking, dropped off a tray of lasagna or cookies or flowers or fill-in-the-blank. They didn\u2019t ring the doorbell. They didn\u2019t call to find out if we liked lasagna or if we\u2019d be home. They simply left something on the doorstep. One helpful friend showed up at my house and immediately rolled up her sleeves and started doing my sink full of dishes. She didn\u2019t ask. She just dived in. <\/p>\n

One recent morning, as I struggled to summon the energy to open the fridge and figure out breakfast for the kids and me, I watched a delivery truck back into our driveway.  Out came bags of bagels, platters of cream cheese, smoked salmon, fresh fruit and a carton of hot coffee sent by my colleagues. That morning, I did not have the forethought to say, \u201cYou know, I could really go for a bagel and coffee right now,\u201d but it turns out that\u2019s exactly what we needed. <\/p>\n

No. 3: \u2018I can\u2019t imagine what you must be going through\u2019<\/h2>\n

One of my teenage daughters, a theater kid, explained to me why this phrase really rubs her the wrong way: It reveals a curious lack of creativity. <\/p>\n

Here\u2019s what she wanted to ask her friends who said this: Really? You\u2019ve never imagined losing a parent? Have you ever seen a movie about loss or death? \u201cThe Fault in Our Stars,\u201d perhaps? How \u2018bout \u201cThe Lion King\u201d? Were you dry-eyed when Mufasa died, or did you cry and feel Simba\u2019s pain? <\/em>My daughter\u2019s hunch is that you can<\/em>, in fact, imagine a devastating loss, but you don\u2019t want <\/em>to imagine it for yourself or have to think of how sad this is for us. <\/p>\n

That\u2019s understandable. We want to protect you from our pain, too. But the statement has the unintended effect of isolating us on a grief island, as though loss was somehow singularly ours. So instead of putting our feelings in an unimaginable silo, try relating to us. Say something like, \u201cI remember when I lost my X and I felt X\u201d. Or maybe share a specific memory like \u201cI really enjoyed watching your dad coach you in soccer. I\u2019m going to miss that.\u201d <\/p>\n

A statement like that lets us know we\u2019re not alone. <\/p>\n

No. 4: \u2018This is so unfair\u2019<\/h2>\n

I was surprised when friends, particularly friends my age, said this. I\u2019m in the news business, so I think my notion of life \u201cbeing fair\u201d vanished somewhere in the middle of covering yet another senseless school shooting. I\u2019ve long since stopped thinking of life as being neatly organized into fair and unfair categories. <\/p>\n

Instead of trying to untangle grief from injustice, I\u2019ve started the practice of radical acceptance. This concept was introduced to my husband and me by our grief counselor immediately after his diagnosis. It goes something like this: Some things in life are glorious, and some things suck. Try to accept life on its own terms and deal with the hand you\u2019re dealt. <\/p>\n

Radical acceptance has been a game-changer for me and how I tackle the tough stuff. Instead of asking, \u201cWhy me?\u201d or \u201cHow can life be so unfair?\u201d I say, \u201cThis is what I\u2019m dealing with. What\u2019s the best way forward?\u201d <\/p>\n

No. 5: \u2018I want to come give you a hug\u2019<\/h2>\n

Before I was thrust into grief, I would not have understood how a loving gesture from a friend could ever feel uncomfortable. Now I do. <\/p>\n

Those of us grieving need to pace ourselves. It\u2019s draining to grieve for too long on any given day, so we titrate the pain. I find myself carefully carving out chunks of time to read condolence cards and respond to sympathy emails because I need to conserve energy to attend to the stuff of life: my kids\u2019 needs, my work schedule, unpaid bills, returning my husband\u2019s leased car. <\/p>\n

Being wrapped in grief does not allow me to function the way I need to. Friends who arrived at my door teary-eyed forced the unintended response of me having to grieve with them on their timetable, rather than my own. Sometimes it felt as though I had to comfort them and help them cope with the loss, which was counterproductive for my mental state. If you do feel compelled to show up at the doorstep of someone who has just suffered a loss, try to bring laughter and lightness with you to help alleviate the grief load on them. <\/p>\n

What to say when there are no words<\/h2>\n

What worked beautifully for us was receiving a lovingly composed letter, email or text, expressing someone\u2019s emotions. I could read the message on my own schedule, at a time I had chosen for reflection. One dear friend sent a lacquered box where I can store condolence cards and keep coming back to when I want to remember the deep impact my husband had on our community. <\/p>\n

Remember, it\u2019s OK to say you don\u2019t know what to say. It\u2019s also OK to wait a beat before saying it. Last week, I got a text from an old friend who I\u2019d not heard from in the months since my husband\u2019s death. She said, \u201cI haven\u2019t found the right words to text you.\u201d <\/p>\n

I knew exactly what she meant, and somehow those words felt just right. <\/p>\n<\/p>\n

This post appeared first on cnn.com<\/div>\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It\u2019s almost impossible to know what to say to someone in the throes of grief. We all want to say something comforting. Very few of us know what that is. I\u2019ve learned this the hard way. My beloved husband of 23 years died at the end of July, two years after being diagnosed with stage IV …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1473,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"loftocean_post_primary_category":0,"loftocean_post_format_gallery":"","loftocean_post_format_gallery_ids":"","loftocean_post_format_gallery_urls":"","loftocean_post_format_video_id":0,"loftocean_post_format_video_url":"","loftocean_post_format_video_type":"","loftocean_post_format_video":"","loftocean_post_format_audio_type":"","loftocean_post_format_audio_url":"","loftocean_post_format_audio_id":0,"loftocean_post_format_audio":"","loftocean-featured-post":"","loftocean-like-count":0,"loftocean-view-count":646,"tinysalt_single_post_intro_label":"","tinysalt_single_post_intro_description":"","tinysalt_hide_post_featured_image":"","tinysalt_post_featured_media_position":"","tinysalt_single_site_header_source":"","tinysalt_single_custom_site_header":"0","tinysalt_single_custom_sticky_site_header":"0","tinysalt_single_custom_sticky_site_header_style":"sticky-scroll-up","tinysalt_single_site_footer_source":"","tinysalt_single_custom_site_footer":"0","footnotes":""},"categories":[35],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1472","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-health-news"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/retirednurseblog.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1472","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/retirednurseblog.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/retirednurseblog.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/retirednurseblog.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/retirednurseblog.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1472"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/retirednurseblog.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1472\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/retirednurseblog.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1473"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/retirednurseblog.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1472"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/retirednurseblog.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1472"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/retirednurseblog.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1472"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}