Grace and Grief - What to do when a friend is grieving

Lily of the Valley - Mom's favorite .

Ok, so this post is a bit of a departure from the usual Greeny memoir. I hope you'll bear with me.

There hasn't been any tragedy close to me recently, which is probably why I can write this today. But as many of you know, I've lost both my dad and my mom within the last 11 years to brutal diseases, so I've lived (and am living) some grief. I have some insider knowledge. But I've also found myself fumbling for words, for hugs, for meaningful action when a friend has lost a parent, a sibling, a spouse, a child, a close friend. I feel like I should be an expert, but I usually find myself paralyzed with insecurity and questions. So I'm writing this post as much for my own instruction as anyone's.

Once in a while a friend will write or call and say "My friend just lost her mom. What should I do?" and I'll just "hmmmm" anxiously into the phone and say unhelpful things like "One of my friends mailed a box of my favorite candy and snacks when my mom died. My roommate baked 3 dozen healthy muffins and put them in freezer bags so I would have over a month's worth of breakfasts for mornings when getting out of bed required a feat of super human strength. My college friends gave me a sympathy card with a photo of a bunch of them mooning. That made me laugh." Every person is different. A card with the naked butts of your close friends in the funeral receiving line is a risky, but dearly personal (and for me, perfectly apt) move. I felt loved, known, and surrounded by people on whom I would rely for sanity and perspective in the days ahead.

I have come across a few extremely well-written articles over the past couple of years and I wanted to share them. Both of the links at the bottom are to essays about losing your mom. These naturally resonated with me, but I think there are some key nuggets of wisdom that can help you love just about anyone who is grieving. I've summarized a couple of key points:

• Americans suck at grieving. We have few rituals and almost no public acknowledgement of grief once the funeral director locks up after the service. In cultures where grieving is woven into the fabric of daily life, we wouldn't have to ask what to do when someone dies. We'd all know what to do, because we would have been visiting, eating, praying, crying, singing, or storytelling with our grieving friends and neighbors since we were kids. So don't feel guilty if you don't know what to do. You are not alone. The important thing is to DO SOMETHING.
• Do something. Say something. Send a card. Say "I'm so sorry". Reach out even though it is awkward or weird. Even if you are not BFFs with the person. The articles give some sage advice about what NOT to say ("She's in a better place." and  "It's God's will." come to mind. Even if you personally think that is true, choose a different thing to say. Trust me.). Facebook is OK as a last resort. It's better than nothing. A call, card, or visit is better. Don't be offended if your sincere "How can I help?" goes unanswered. She probably has no idea what to say or ask. Just like you, she doesn't have a cultural script for this. If you can think of something creative, or if your church or office can organize meals or child care or laundry or errand running, then do it. But please don't wait for the grieving person to turn up with a wish list. 
• Grief is more like a new state of being than a process with an end point in sight. Does it get easier to behave like a normal person? Yes, it does eventually. But it has been 11 years since my dad died, and I am not "over it". I'm even less over mom's 2009 death. The essay series in Slate by Meghan O'Rourke does a beautiful job describing the long process of putting your life back together after someone dies. You are muddling through, but in our culture you still have to go right back to work and eat and shower and act like a civilized human being. This looks different for everyone. Some dive back into keeping busy and getting back into the swing of routine. Some, like me, almost get fired from their jobs because they can't pull it together even 2 months after the funeral. It's not like you need to walk on egg shells with a grieving person. Or never mention your own mom again, or worry that any moment your grieving friend is going to burst into tears, change the subject, or wig out. She might. And that's Ok. Sometimes I cry when I talk about my mom or dad, but that doesn't mean I don't want to talk about them. Which brings me to my #1 Word of Wisdom:

Talk and ask about the person who has died. As Laura Fraser said in her article for Whole Living:

When someone is gone, we are hungry to talk about them, to conjure them from memories, to linger long enough to recall vivid moments.

Talk about the person and her life, not her death. If you knew her, share stories. Talk about details you remember about her - her cooking, her voice, the smell of her perfume, the bright scarves she wore, the day she sent flowers to you at work when you got engaged, etc. If you didn't know her, ask questions. What did she do? Did she grow up in Illinois? How did she and your dad meet? Keep asking. Keep talking. Even years later. Especially around holidays, anniversaries, birthdays, and milestones. Some of the most dear and intensely healing conversations I have had with friends over the past three years have started with someone being brave enough to ask me, out of the blue, something like "What did your mom like to cook at Christmas time?" or "Oh my goodness, I bet your mom would be SO happy to hear that!". It's OK to say something that results in tears, BTW. If given the choice between "crying in the grocery store" and "never getting to talk about my mom even though I think about her every day", I'll take crying.

I hope these are helpful to you sometime down the road. I highly recommend these two links, both called "The Long Goodbye", aptly enough:

The Long Goodbye, by Laura Fraser for Whole Living magazine

The Long Goodbye, Part 1 in a series of 9 excellent essays on bereavement by Meghan O'Rourke for Slate.