platitudes

Things people say to you when someone close to you dies:

"I don't know what to say." There isn't anything to say. I know it. If you don't know what to say, don't say anything. Squeeze my hand or give me a hug and look at me with love and sympathy. Saying you don't know what to say is at least better than saying something really stupid.

"How are you?" This is so automatic that people can't stop themselves from saying it, even people who know better. The answer, of course, is "not good." You know that already, so it's better to refrain from asking, if you can stop yourself.

"How are you doing?" This is less automatic, slightly better, but still the answer is "not that good." I don't completely hate this one, though, because I know you know I'm having a hard time, you're expressing sympathy, and you want to know if I'm managing to cope. Still, questions of any kind are kind of hard because then I have to come up with an answer.

"You should be thankful for the years you had with her." Thanks a lot. I know. I am. It doesn't mean I'm not pissed off and sad about the years I should still have with her. This one often comes from someone who lost a parent much younger than my mom. So then I feel a little guilty about not feeling more thankful right now. Thanks for piling another negative feeling on me. I know it could be worse. But it's bad enough.

"She can still hear you." This is comforting for some people, I guess, but I really don't think she can hear me, and if she could, I can't imagine that it would bring her anything but pain to see me so sad. Also, it doesn't help me to think she can hear me, because I want to hear her--I want her to answer me. Third, would that mean she could hear me all the time? I mean, I don't want her to hear me, say, having sex with my husband. Does it make sense that if she could hear me, it would only be when I want her to?

"I'm so sorry." As far as I'm concerned, you can't go wrong with this one.

My very favorite thing is the personal stories people have told about their relationships with Mom and the impression she made on them. I like knowing how she touched people's lives, even though I sometimes wind up feeling like I wished I had known her even better (and I felt like I knew her pretty well). It'd be pretty great to be able to talk over these stories with Mom and hear her side of them. Still, I love getting these very specific stories.

At least no one has said the really awful stuff you hear about, like "She's in a better place," or "God wanted her." Maybe it's true, but boy, it wouldn't help me if someone said that to me.

Comments

[kelli]

thanks for sharing your experience and your thoughts, Heidi. I don't deal with death well...I mean, does anyone? Maybe I guess... but I guess when I say 'I don't deal with deal well", I really mean, I don't deal with it. It's like the 'stages of death' everyone talks about? Yeah, my first stage of denial lasts years. Not healthy and I admit that, but maybe it's because I haven't had that many people I love die. I'm dreadful at consoling because I tend to be so much of an empath that I grieve with people.  But what you've said here makes so much sense...all the things that people *think* they are saying to be of comfort but they really don't put much thought into.

They say it gets easier with time...but what if it doesn't? I can definitely see where the stories that people have about your mom would be helpful to the healing...seeing her through others' eyes is a special gift.

[reesie]

I found this post very... helpful. I'm usually in the "quick, say something stupid" crowd. Different things comfort different people. I think I'll go with the "I'm so sorry" in this case.

[mikerose]

How about "Is there anything you need?" I'm kind of a fan of that one.

[Heidi]

Kelli: I think some people deal with death better than others, and I think how well they do it has to do with how well they deal with the rest of their lives. I found it comforting when empathetic people grieved with me--as long as I didn't end up having to comfort them. From reading your blog, you seem self-aware enough that I would expect you to be better than you say at consoling. You can't make someone feel better when they've suffered a big loss--the best thing to do, I think, is recognize their grief and grieve with them, without making it about you (which, though I don't really know you, I don't really see you doing). I don't know what happens if it doesn't get easier with time--I think for a while it gets harder, but I don't know for how long. Maybe it doesn't get easier, but it gets different.

Reesie: I'm glad it was a little helpful to you. Our culture hides death and rejects negative emotion, I think, and it just makes it that much harder to know how to react to someone who is grieving. I'm still working on it, and I have to get comfortable with it, because that's going to be a big part of my job when I'm a rabbi.

Mike (sweetie): In writing this post, I came to realize that I don't find any kind of question so great. Rather than asking if there's anything I need, it would be better to say, "I'm going to bring you some food. Do you have any dietary restrictions?" Or "I'm going to babysit your kids for an evening so you and Mike can go out and have some time to yourselves. Would this Wednesday be good?" The more specific, the better, so that I don't have to do work while I'm in the midst of grieving. All of this stuff, of course, is just me. But I liked the feeling of being taken care of right at the beginning of my grieving process.