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Slices of Life: When someone you love is grieving — a tutorial
pertler

Grief is scary. It is uncomfortable and unpredictable. Being with a person who is grieving is all those things. It might be easy, sometimes, to stay away and keep your distance. Surely the grieving person has lots to do and many other people ringing her doorbell and calling her cell phone. Right?

Probably not. Before lady grief punched me in the face, I did whatever I could to avoid her. What in the heck do you say to someone who is grieving? Pre-grief I wouldn’t have had an answer. Post-grief I would advise: say anything; say nothing. Just be there. 

As I’ve stumbled my way through this painful journey, I’ve had a few moments when I thought, “If I only knew, I would have...” I thought I’d share. When dealing with someone who is grieving:

Reach out. Call. If they don’t want to talk they don’t have to pick up the phone. It’s better to reach out too much than too little. If you are uncomfortable with a call, send a text. But reach out. You are never being a bother. Trust me.

Reach out in the beginning, but keep it up in the weeks and months that follow. Grief doesn’t end after a certain amount of time. Many people reach out at the beginning and think, “There, now that’s done.” But grief gets lonelier, sometimes, as time goes on.

Reach out on weekends and holidays. Normal people look forward to Friday and Saturday nights. Not so for those who are grieving. Weekends get long and quiet. Friends don’t answer their phones on the weekend because they are doing their regular normal fun person stuff, which is to be expected.  But if you find yourself with a quiet moment during the weekend, reach out. 

Be forgiving if your phone calls and texts go unanswered. Keep trying. Sometimes grief is so overwhelming it’s paralyzing.

Nothing you can say or do will ever make the person feel worse. It won’t make their grief worse or make them sad. They are fully aware of their state. You reaching out will never bring back bad memories or emotions. The grieving person is already experiencing them full-bore. It is practically impossible for you to make things worse or dredge things up. 

Let them cry, but don’t expect it. Some days will be filled with tears, others won’t. There’s no explaining it. There’s no logic to it. That’s what makes grief so formidable; it steals all control. And control is power.

If you find yourself crying, go with it. You will not make the grieving person feel worse. There is nothing you can do to make them feel worse.

Less is often more. Less chatter. Less commotion. Less activity. Less expectations. Don’t be afraid of silence. Just being there is often enough. 

Decisions — what to wear, what to eat, whether to brush your teeth before putting your socks on — are difficult and sometimes impossible. Limit choices or options. They are overwhelming. Don’t ask “Tuna or chicken salad?” Just make the sandwich. If it doesn’t get eaten, so be it. 

Don’t ask, “What can I do?” The only thing more difficult than the grief and making decisions is asking for help. Don’t ask. Tell. “I’m going to the store. I bet you could use some milk.” Or, “I’m coming over next week for a walk outside. Does Tuesday work?”

Each day is different. Each hour is different. Each minute is different. Grief is a bevy of emotions. Sometimes they come on like a flood; other times they are completely absent. Don’t expect one emotion or another. There is no right or wrong. Roll with it and allow the grieving person this grace.

They say time heals all wounds, but I’m not sure I buy this to be true. From what people tell me, grief can span years and decades and lifetimes. Don’t judge. Don’t expect. Don’t ever tell someone it’s time to get over it. Not ever.

No one likes grief. Heck I think we all hate it. It’s uncomfortable and scary. But it’s part of the human condition. Grief means you have loved. And loving is at the very center of life. I wouldn’t give up love in order to avoid grief. And there, right there, is a choice that is fully in my control.

And control is power.


— Jill Pertler’s column Slices of Life appears regularly in the Times. She can be reached at jillpert@mediacombb.net.