Have you ever had to face someone who has gone through the tragedy of losing a loved one and not known what to say? You see that person and try to “duck and cover” so that you don’t have to speak. You turn down an aisle at Target and hang out looking at a vast array of toothbrushes hoping they will walk past you and not notice. If they do see you, you paste a surprised look on your face as if you had not known they were there in the first place.
Having been on both ends of the situation, I have a few suggestions. Although we all wonder what to say in those awkward moments, I think it is more important to know what NOT to say.
I did a slight bit of research by talking with some new friends that have lost close family members. We have come up with a list of things that we have heard over the years. Here are just a few. Some are shocking, while others may point to your own guilt.
To a new widow: “You’re still young. You’ll find another man.”
To a grieving parent: “Have you thought about having another child?” and “I know how you feel. I lost my dog last year.”
In reference to organ donation: “How much did you get for all of his things?”
Space in this column will not allow the countless other “wonderful” comments we have heard.
So, what SHOULD you say? First, don’t avoid us. Instead share with us a good memory you may have of the dearly departed. Second, remember, when you share stories of your life, we have no new stories to tell of our loved one. So listen to our old ones as if you are hearing them for the first time. It helps us keep the memories alive. Third, refrain from giving advice. There is no magic saying or scripture we haven’t heard or read that you can share to make the pain suddenly go away. Just be there to help us carry the load.
Finally, if you truly want to help, lend an ear or a shoulder. When you disappear from our lives it just becomes another loss for us. Instead, listen and give us a reassuring hug. Be there for us like you were before our loss. These things can truly help in our time of sorrow.
