I recently wrote a piece that appeared in The Boston Globe about how we should talk about grief more. I said in that piece that being inarticulate is fine, being messy is fine, and I stand by it. I think the only way we’ll get better at talking about grief is by daring to be clumsy about it.

I was thinking when I wrote the piece about people aiming to offer comfort or condolences. There’s another category of talking about grief that I want to address today: the nosy question.

I’ve been amazed at how bold people have been about asking me very personal questions in the wake of my husband’s death. I’ve been asked how much I paid for the celebration of life, did my husband have a will, did I expect him to die, was I there when he died, did he have life insurance, am I dating. I know people who have lost loved ones to suicide who have been asked if a note was left, who found their loved one, and if they were surprised.

These questions may be fine from a close friend or a professional who needs the answer to proceed. A financial adviser can ask me about my husband’s will and then support and advise me. A friend can ask and then help me process my emotions about it. When a co-worker I’m not close to asks, I can only imagine it’s out of idle curiosity and either my answer will be forgotten or become fodder for gossip.

Here is what I have done when someone has asked me a question that feels too personal, too tender, too stupid, or that for any reason I don’t want to answer or can’t answer:

1. Sometimes I set boundaries, such as saying, “I’m not up for this right now” or “that’s a conversation for another time.” No one has pushed me when I have used one of these phrases. I often use these phrases when people ask me questions about the medical care my husband received before he died. Sometimes I don’t mind answering those questions, so I use phrases that don’t shut down the conversation forever but imply that at some point in the future, I may want to talk about it.
2. Whenever someone asks me about life insurance, how much something cost, or inheritance, I respond in a shocked and incredulous tone, “Did you just ask me about my personal finances?!” No one has had the nerve yet to pursue that line of questioning. The people I’ve said this to have been appropriately embarrassed and backtracked immediately.
3. When people ask me nosy questions about my relationships with my husband’s family, I usually give a somewhat cryptic response. Most of the questions I get about his family imply that I must be relieved to no longer have to interact with them anymore; I assume these people are projecting their own issues with their in-laws onto me. The fact is I am actually much closer to my late husband’s extended family than to my own. They are my family. Now, the average random person asking about my in-laws doesn’t merit enough time and energy from me to get this information, so I often give a half-laugh and move on without answering their nosy question.
4. I don’t worry about explaining why I don’t like their question or why I don’t want to answer it. I don’t worry about making them feel ok about having asked the question. I remind myself that if I want to, I can take the opportunity to make this a learning moment for them, but that I don’t have to.

I basically do a cost-benefit analysis that looks like this: considering (1) my current energy level, (2) relationship with this person, (3) the likelihood of me crossing paths with them again, and (4) the anticipated outcome of the interaction, how much of my limited time and energy do I want to put into either answering their question, explaining why I’m not going to answer their question, or feeling bad about this situation after it’s over?

I think sometimes grieving people who are normally very polite and kind feel pressure to be polite and kind when these kinds of nosy questions are asked, and I suspect they sometimes want to be granted permission to not be polite and kind in the face of these questions.

Grieving people: I give you permission to respond to nosy questions without being polite and kind. I give you permission to be rude, be curt, not offer an explanation. I give you permission to put yourself first, to handle nosy questions less than perfectly.

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