Tag Archives: supporting someone who is grieving

grieving

Pining Away for Our Dead One’s Things

When my husband died, I had him cremated. In the course of making the arrangements, the funeral home offered to sell me all sorts of urns, memorial jewelry, and plaques, and finally, the director told me they could take my husband’s fingerprint and have it engraved on a necklace charm or something else for me. “You can purchase the urns or plaques any time, but of course, we need to know if you want his fingerprint before we cremate him,” the director explained.

I said no quickly and effortlessly to all of it. The fingerprint was easy to dismiss because my husband used to joke that he had no fingerprints. The carpentry work he had done for decades and the many accidents he’d had involving power equipment that shaved off layers of his fingertips had left him with nearly smooth finger pads. He joked that he could commit a crime and leave no fingerprints behind. When he got an iPhone with touch ID, the salesperson tried to help him set it up for 20 minutes before conceding that indeed, Tom had no fingerprint.

I didn’t give my no to the fingerprint a second thought until I went to pick up his cremains a few days later and realized his fingerprint was gone forever. Never mind that I knew he didn’t even have a fingerprint. Never mind that I could put a blank charm on a necklace and claim it was Tom’s fingerprint and no one, including me, would know the difference. I didn’t want a piece of jewelry with his fingerprint on it until it was a complete impossibility.

I was talking with a widowed friend recently who regrets throwing out a threadbare T-shirt of her husband’s. The T-shirt didn’t ring any bells with her when she found it in with is other clothing and it was too worn to give to someone else, so she put it in the trash. Months later, she noticed that he was wearing that same T-shirt in many photos and realized it must have been one of his favorites.

It doesn’t matter to her that she still has many of his other shirts. It doesn’t matter to me that I have a ring with some of my husband’s cremains in it and several bracelets with his handwriting on them. We want that one thing that is impossible for us to have now.

I think if she found the T-shirt—maybe she didn’t throw it out after all and it turns up later in the back of a drawer—or the funeral home called me and said, “We accidentally took your husband’s fingerprint,” we’d find something else to fixate on. She’d pine away for a watch of her husband’s that she gave away and I would wish to have back one of the dozens of tape measures my husband had, many of which I gave out as party favors at a gathering.  

It’s not about the fingerprint or the T-shirt. It’s about the deep aching loss of our partners, the wishing for one more day with them, one more T-shirt, one more hand hold, one more anything. Just one more. It’s about fighting the foreverness of death.

When I think about not having gotten my husband’s fingerprint, the thought, “It’s gone forever” rings in my head. I made a decision that can never be undone. My therapist says I am trying to find something I can control. I can’t control that my husband is dead, but I could control that fingerprint decision.

I used to tell myself I was being stupid when I got upset about the fingerprint. “You’re such an idiot,” I would say in my head. “You don’t need a stupid fingerprint charm, get over it.” Or worse: “Well, you should have gotten the fingerprint when you had the chance, dumbass.” But being mean to myself about it didn’t make the feelings pass sooner, it just made me feel stupid on top of being sad.

Now I try to show myself the same compassion I showed my friend who was upset about the T-shirt. If you’re trying to comfort someone who is struggling with the foreverness of death, here are some strategies to try.

  1. Because it’s an illogical longing, an approach based on reason will fall flat. Reminding the person that there are other T-shirts won’t make them feel any better. This is not a time to worry about what makes sense.
  2. Hold space for their sadness. Listen and offer support without judging or trying to fix things.
  3. Invite them to tell some stories about the thing they are pining away for. The last time I was upset about the fingerprint, my daughter asked me how Tom had lost his fingerprints, and soon we were laughing hysterically about him making boomerangs on a job site.
  4. Acknowledge that it sucks that the thing is gone. Don’t look for a silver lining. Don’t say “at least you have [fill in the blank].” These approaches minimize the pain the person is feeling.

Note that if you are the someone struggling, you deserve the same kindness and compassion your friends do. I mentioned above that I said things to myself that made me feel stupid, but I would never try to make a friend feel stupid on top of being sad. Why would I talk to myself that way?

grieving, normalizing what should be normal

How to Stop Trying to Fix Grief + Just Listen

Last week, a friend whose mother is dying called me. She is experiencing intense anticipatory grief. On our call, she expressed sadness and feelings of powerlessness. I listened to her, acknowledged the sadness of the situation, and reassured her that her feelings were normal. Our call ended with her still feeling very sad. She thanked me for listening.

I did something very simple on that call but it is something it has taken me years to learn how to do: I listened without trying to fix anything. Nothing about her situation can be fixed; her mom will die. Watching her mom dwindle away will hurt intensely. There was nothing I could do to change the outcome or make her hurt less. All I could do was listen—and yet, by simply listening, I was able to make her feel less alone and help her face her feelings rather than turn away from them.

Listening without trying to fix is something I’ve had to learn how to do, and maybe you need to learn it, too.

Many people think that trying to fix things is an issue for men but not for women, and it may be more of an issue for men than for women, but since my husband’s stroke and death, I’ve had plenty of women as well as men try to “fix” my grief. Perhaps we have so much trouble accepting grief as normal and healthy that even women fall into fixing mode when faced with it. Whenever someone says, “How can I cheer you up?” or launches into explaining to me what worked for them when they were grieving—that’s fixing.

And it’s not helpful.

Grief is not a problem to fix or an obstacle to overcome. It hurts and is messy and may be painful to watch, but it is also a completely normal response to loss. Focusing on making the grief go away misses the point that grief is how we process loss.

Many times since my husband died, I have wanted to share my complicated thoughts, fears, and emotions with others. I have felt the truth of Maya Angelou‘s statement that “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you.” Talking about my grief helps me make sense out of it. When I am sharing my grief with someone else, I am looking for connection and acknowledgment. It can be helpful for someone to paraphrase back to me what I’ve said or point out patterns. To do that, the person I’m talking to needs to really listen, not just hear.

When I first began taking listening seriously, I found it very difficult to stay present. My mind wandered, much like it does sometimes during meditation. Sometimes my mind wandered to possible solutions for the person speaking. But just like when I’m meditating, I can notice the wandering and bring my mind back to the present. I can notice solutions or judgments rising up in my mind and let them go without giving them voice.

When you’re listening to someone who is grieving, you may wonder what to say if you’re not trying to fix the situation. You can say, “If you want to talk, I’m happy to listen, but I’m also ok sitting here in silence with you.” You can say, “It totally sucks that your person died.” You can say, “I’m right here. You’re not alone.” You can ask questions about how they feel, how they want to feel, or what they want or need from you.

If you want to offer advice, ask first. You can say something like, “I have an idea of how I might approach this situation. Are you interested in hearing it?” And if they say no, shut up.

I think the urge to fix grows out of a desire to “do something.” When we are quietly listening, we can feel like we aren’t doing anything. It can take some time to learn to be ok with that.

Grief is hard. Listening is hard. Not trying to fix things is hard.