How to help your friend through grief
This is a weird week.
Not for all the obvious reasons rooted in the many crises worldwide, but because this week marks the death anniversaries of several loved ones from my life.
And today specifically marks the 5 year anniversary of the day my mother died.
This means that I’ve been without my mom for five years, and without my mom in full health for about eight years (given the three years she spent battling cancer before passing away in 2016). My mom was my absolute best friend and losing her has defined much of my existence and character since then. My grief for her has also significantly shaped my understanding of human behavior and our culture’s seeming inability to appreciate the power of grief as well as our culture’s refusal to honor the impacts of trauma and loss that invariably touch every one of us.
So I thought, on this weird weird week, I would take a moment to walk through a few tips on how to respond to someone experiencing grief, loss, trauma, or despair.
Don’t
- Don’t assume you know what they need or want
This is a really hard concept for so many because we desperately want to be the person needed by the one grieving and therefore we want to somehow instinctively know how to respond to the griever. My experience with loss has taught me that sometimes the most well-intentioned loved ones make major errors navigating this as they instead act on how *they* would want to be treated or how they think they would want to be treated. Don’t assume. Ask your friend or family member what they need and say you are simply there for them as much or as little as your loved one wants.
2. Don’t bombard them with messages, gifts, or attention
I have a distinct memory of receiving what felt like *endless* amounts of food in the weeks surrounding my mom’s death. I had to give much of it away as it overwhelmed me, and given my small appetite at the time, I could not keep most of it fresh. If you want to send your loved one something, ask! It’s really as easy as that. “Hey friend, can I send you a care package?” And be ready to say “I understand completely” if they tell you no. Similarly, if you find yourself compelled to send endless texts or messages, do a quick pulse check to see how your loved one feels about this. Trust your friend or family member to tell you how best to communicate or interact with them. They know themselves and their needs best; believe them when they give you feedback.
3. Don’t center yourself or your needs
There seems to be a phenomenon in which loved ones trying to help others navigate grief, in spite of the best intentions, center their own needs and wants. Sometimes this can be painfully obvious; I remember family members asking for specific material items of my mother’s after she died. Sometimes it can be much more insidious — demanding attention, validation, or gratitude as compensation for support. I remember one person once remarked frustration with me for not thanking them for a sympathy card. Do not be this kind of person.
Do
- Do listen
Your loved one is now operating at an entirely different capacity now. If you aim to be supportive, the best thing you can do is simply offer to listen to them and be there for them. I remember once, sometime after my mom died, spending nearly an hour staring at my feet, trying to get the energy to put on sneakers so I would get up and go for a walk. The victories that seem so small deserve so much praise. Listen to your friend as they navigate these victories found among the many moments of pain.
2. Do validate their pain
One of the worst things that anyone can say in the aftermath of loss is something akin to ‘Look on the bright side.’ (Which reminds me: don’t tell your friend to look on the bright side.) There are no bright sides right now. I’m going to say that again, in case you missed it: There are no bright sides right now. If you are a consistently upbeat person, this one might be harder to accept because we live in a culture that praises positivity over connection and applauds smiles over meaningful conversation. But it is extremely important to honor and appreciate the level of pain that your loved one is in. Focusing on things that you perceive as bright sides dismisses their feelings and delegitimizes their pain.
3. Do accept what your loved one tells you
One of the most painful aspects of navigating loss and grief is the loss of control in all things around you. When my mom died, I had friends and family constantly surprising me with visits, gifts, etc and few things made me panic more than this. Surprises, startlements, and unannounced or unexpected curveballs worsen this feeling of non-control and it is *awful.* When your friend pushes away or pulls you closer in the same sentence, accept this. When your friend tells you to back off, accept this. When you feel compelled to trust your assumptions of what one might need in a time of grief, but your friend is saying otherwise — accept what they are saying. It is hard. But when I think back to the friends and family I had who ignored my expressed wishes in the time after my mom died, I know those relationships were changed forever from this. Indicating to your friend that you are listening, supporting, believing, and accepting the things they tell you is the best way you show your love for them.
I say all of this not as a therapist or mental health professional but simply someone who went through Hell for some time and emerged to carry a piece of it with me always. In my mom’s memorial, I offered this anecdote, after serving as her caregiver throughout her illness. I hope this might be helpful for those in need as well:
But the more important cues were the ones I only learned recently. The ones where I learned which silence of hers means stress. Which means sadness. Which means “I miss my mom.” Which means “I’m too exhausted to do this another day.” And after these moments, I’d sit down in front of her and work through each feeling with her. I think there is a moment in everyone’s life when you realize the battle cannot be won. A disease cannot be cured. But it can be treated to the best of one’s ability and with no medical expertise and nearly zero prior familiarity with cancer, I helped treat my mom’s illness with precisely what she had given me my entire life: compassion. I listened, I advocated…I demanded better.
For her.
