When you are not directly involved, there is something about the grieving process that leaves you feeling, well, rather useless. You want to be of some use, some support, say the right words, provide some sort of peace; and, yet, there is nothing you can do that quite feels adequate. You don't feel like you are helping at all.
One of my dearest friend's father passed away this past week; and this is how I feel, completely useless. I never met the man personally, but still there is a sense of loss, even if only peripherally. I have been through the grieving process more times than I care to count. I know the drill. I know all too well the chaotic mix of sadness, duty, unfamiliar distance relatives, cards, flowers, strangers patting your shoulder expressing their sorrow and asking if you are alright. I have found no words that truly comfort. There is nothing anyone can do to really ease the pain, the sadness, the tears. Thus, this feeling of uselessness.
How do you balance supporting your friends while still allowing for personal space and necessary personal grieving time? I don't think there really is a formula here. Death is and always will be a touchy subject, and because the depth and time for grieving is such an individual response, one person's boundaries are not going to be that same as the next. Some people need to talk about it, others need silence. It pains me so much now, I think, because I know the process, I know what my friends are going to be facing from now until the grieving is over, if it ever really is. It hurts to watch anyone go through it.
The only thing we can really do is be there, be present, listen. There is no such thing as a hero in these sorts of situations. We are not going to magically lift anyone's spirits or make anyone forget the immediate, often devastatingly painful situation. The important thing is to remember the good times, honor the memories, and be there when a shoulder, open ear, or Kleenex is needed, when it is asked for and not when you think it should be given. The important thing to know is that we still have each other, that our love for each other is strong and will get us through to the next day. All we can really do is keep on living, keep on supporting each other, growing as the the families we have created.
For me, in the grieving process, it was only this that brought me comfort, to know that I was not alone in my grief, that there were people to stand by me and that would help me with whatever I asked them to do. It was not that I needed them to do anything, just knowing they were there was enough.
If I knew a funny story to tell about him, I would, something to remember him by. While I never saw him in the flesh or have any personal memories, what I do recall are conversations of childhood, memories of chocolate milk and candy bars brought home from work as bedtime snacks, country music concerts, and trips to the lake in the boat. This is how I will remember him, even if it is only an imagined picture in my head. This is how I will remember a life that was held so dear by those so close to me, if not by me directly.
So, to chocolate milk and candy bars, and an irreplaceable, wonderful father.
In memoriam
AG 1953-2007.
-to ADG and AN, my deepest sympathies and love.
One of my dearest friend's father passed away this past week; and this is how I feel, completely useless. I never met the man personally, but still there is a sense of loss, even if only peripherally. I have been through the grieving process more times than I care to count. I know the drill. I know all too well the chaotic mix of sadness, duty, unfamiliar distance relatives, cards, flowers, strangers patting your shoulder expressing their sorrow and asking if you are alright. I have found no words that truly comfort. There is nothing anyone can do to really ease the pain, the sadness, the tears. Thus, this feeling of uselessness.
How do you balance supporting your friends while still allowing for personal space and necessary personal grieving time? I don't think there really is a formula here. Death is and always will be a touchy subject, and because the depth and time for grieving is such an individual response, one person's boundaries are not going to be that same as the next. Some people need to talk about it, others need silence. It pains me so much now, I think, because I know the process, I know what my friends are going to be facing from now until the grieving is over, if it ever really is. It hurts to watch anyone go through it.
The only thing we can really do is be there, be present, listen. There is no such thing as a hero in these sorts of situations. We are not going to magically lift anyone's spirits or make anyone forget the immediate, often devastatingly painful situation. The important thing is to remember the good times, honor the memories, and be there when a shoulder, open ear, or Kleenex is needed, when it is asked for and not when you think it should be given. The important thing to know is that we still have each other, that our love for each other is strong and will get us through to the next day. All we can really do is keep on living, keep on supporting each other, growing as the the families we have created.
For me, in the grieving process, it was only this that brought me comfort, to know that I was not alone in my grief, that there were people to stand by me and that would help me with whatever I asked them to do. It was not that I needed them to do anything, just knowing they were there was enough.
If I knew a funny story to tell about him, I would, something to remember him by. While I never saw him in the flesh or have any personal memories, what I do recall are conversations of childhood, memories of chocolate milk and candy bars brought home from work as bedtime snacks, country music concerts, and trips to the lake in the boat. This is how I will remember him, even if it is only an imagined picture in my head. This is how I will remember a life that was held so dear by those so close to me, if not by me directly.
So, to chocolate milk and candy bars, and an irreplaceable, wonderful father.
In memoriam
AG 1953-2007.
-to ADG and AN, my deepest sympathies and love.
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2 comments:
Thank you -- that was by far the best blog you've written. The part about the chocolate milk & candy bars did me in though.
On Christmas Eve I phoned a friend, close friend, and told her I couldn't make it to her house to watch Carols because I just couldn't bring myself to sit and pretend my heart wasn't breaking. What I received in reply was, 'Why? What's wrong?', spoken with obvious irritation. It wasn't until I broke down and cried over the phone that it seemed she remembered the death of my partner. Then she changed her tune, then she offered comfort, and for that show of empathy and understanding - albeit delayed - I was grateful.
I don't think there is anything anyone can say to make a grieving person 'feel better'. But you're completely right when you said that the worse feeling is that of being alone with your grief. Even if you want solitude, it's very different to loneliness.
I'm very sorry for your friend's loss and my thoughts are with them. Just the fact you want to try and offer support, without even knowing how apart from empathising from experience, is a wonderful thing. I'm sure you'll be a great comfort during this time.
Best Wishes,
Zathyn
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