What I Know About Grief (Could Fill a Book)

How to interact with the bereaved, even when it's awkward AF.

Hi, it’s your friendly neighborhood orphan – also known as the bringer of fun. Ha! Anyway, I was talking about the real-world experiences (read: traumas) that inspired When Happily Ever After Fails in an interview the other day and we got on the topic of grief.

It’s such an odd subject, isn’t it? Like, hi, what does your body do when something fundamental to your existence is ripped from it?

I know enough about grief to know this: there’s no roadmap. No handbook. Not even a one-size-fits-all grief gift that can make everyone feel better. Instead, it’s one of those MFing things that continues to morph and shape shift with every person and experience – kind of like a frenemy or really desperate Tinder date.

I also know this, though: people are dying (no pun intended) to know what to say to the grieving. And how to help. And how to make sure you please, please don’t start crying when they swing by your office and see you staring at that picture of your dog, who just died.

Because they feel like they need to say something. That they’re insensitive dicks if they don’t. But, for the love of God, just don’t cry…

Also, does anyone work in an office anymore? I’m not even sure. I haven’t occupied one since 2008. For the record, I was waaaay ahead of this work-from-home trend.

Back to grief. Having been on the receiving end of many well-meaning intentions and condolences, I have a few thoughts.

Don’t Make it About You

Aren’t we all just a bunch of flawed individuals trying to relate to one another? Yes. Does the person in the thick of the grieving process remember this? Probably not.

Comparing one’s grief to another’s is tricky – and dangerous. Maybe your childhood dog also died, like 11 years ago, so you feel you’re an expert on the subject. You even stared at his picture extra long that afternoon from your dorm room halfway across the country.

That’s cool. It’s just that the single girl who isn’t close with her family but has lived in three different states with the same dog over the past 13 years may not feel that those deaths – while seemingly “equal” – are relatable.

The same holds true in other scenarios.

·       A skin cancer scare for you (that turned out to be nothing) is not the same thing as your younger cousin getting diagnosed with Stage 2 breast cancer

·       Your mother dying in her sleep at the ripe old age of 89 is not necessarily relatable to an adult child who lost their 64-year-old dad in a car accident

·       You choosing to forego kids doesn’t mean you have a similar lifestyle to your mid-30s work bestie who should embrace her baby-free existence. If she’d just put all that IVF money toward a girls’ trip to Bali, she’d finally get what you mean!

This doesn’t make your opinion or experience(s) invalid – but you comparing your past losses to another’s fresh loss can make their feelings seem invalid.

Now, there are two caveats:

1.       If the griever asks for advice or more info. on what made you feel better

2.       If you’ve been in an extremely similar scenario. We’re talking you-also-lost-a-parent-far-too-young-due-to-an-unforeseen-accident similar

Positivity at the Right Time

We’re all desperate for the silver lining, right? This can be especially true when you want to take away another’s pain or, at the very least, say something that doesn’t make them sob. It’s a lofty goal, to be sure. One that can’t be guaranteed, unfortunately.

You can do your best, though. This starts with timing. And knowing your audience. That Bali trip can be a great suggestion (or maybe take it down a few notches and suggest a spa day or Vegas weekend? Baby steps. Damn, another pun not intended) when your work bestie is between cycles.

You can show your support for your younger cousin by making a donation in her name to a breast cancer organization that she’s aligned with. Don’t tell her this within seconds of her announcement. Maybe you get her a birthday (or Christmas, etc.) gift totally unrelated to cancer or boobs – which you should do because…cousins, gross. Then you put a note or receipt inside a separate card.

Know When to STFU

I have a story to share. I was standing in the church, numb and shellshocked from my mom’s death at age 55 (I was 28). A distant relative – I think she might’ve been a great aunt? – walks up to me and says, “I remember your dad’s funeral.” No greeting. No condolence. No punch to the face, which would’ve been less surprising than that statement.

Just “I remember your dad’s funeral” with straight lips and a slight head nod. Then she walked away. The actual definition of WTF. An interaction so jarring that, 14 years later, it’s one of my Roman Empires (look it up).

The thing is, I don’t think this woman meant to be an insensitive [insert whatever word you like and I’ll probably agree]. She just didn’t know what to say…but probably felt the need to say something. Because that’s the urge people have at funerals, and/or during their first encounter with the bereaved after a loss.

Want to know a great thing to say when you don’t know what to say? Exactly that.

“I don’t know what to say.”

Not knowing what to do or say in a serious, semi-awkward situation is the pinnacle of the shared human experience. We can all relate to that. And I don’t know any grieving person who would hold someone’s feet to the fire and say, “well, eff you then. Because you should know what to say!” Unless you’re the reverend there to lead the funeral services. That person should probably have something to say.

The rest of us are largely let off the hook. Aside from narcissists who think the entire world revolves around them, I think most grievers get the situation is weird, another’s grief is unsettling and many of these losses are not relatable.

So own it. Give the hug, shoulder pat, fist bump, appropriate form of contact, etc., then say you’re very sorry they’re in this situation. Maybe add in that it’s unfair or that they don’t deserve this (your call on this one) and end by saying you’re not sure what to say. That you’re here in whatever capacity they need you. That you’re thinking about them.

That’s it. The end. Finito.

Don’t make this weirder than it has to be. I promise you, nine times out of 10, the person receiving the condolences is way more uncomfortable than you are – almost to the point where they want to say, “I’m sorry you have to go through this.” Maybe not that far, but close.

And whatever you do, don’t bring up the person’s dead dad at their mom’s funeral. Even if that was the last time you saw them. Even if it was a memorable funeral. Even if you feel like you should point out that they both had funerals.

Don’t be someone’s Roman Empire.