Let them hurt: on supporting a grieving loved one
because my one precious life was a lie
Tetyana Denford
Mary Oliver told me
that I have to be able to do three things in this world.
Those are three things too little.
I loved something mortal
and it broke my heart.
I held it to my bones,
and it faded into gossamer.
I let it go, and the core of my body
collapsed like wet concrete.
So, where is the learning, Mary?
When does my grief create a better version of me?
Or do I sit in the stillness,
and wait for each breath to become
less painful than the last?
I held her to my bones;
her bird-like frame folding in on itself at the end.
I held her, Mary.
And she was the one to let go.
Dear Reader,
The first time I realized everyone around me will die at some point, was already too late. The first moment of learning of her death never leaves me. A shock so deep I still cannot fully comprehend it, 5 years later. In the aftermath of an unexpected death, I saw everyone around me return to what is most basic to their nature - I repressed and took care of everyone, most of my family fully collapsed, and the wise few- sat in the pain.
Of course, the repression came back to bite me in the ass, but that is a story for another day. Caring for grieving people is confusing and often counterintuitive. Our normal response to uncomfortable emotions is to shove them aside and carry on with our life, but bereavement, it is different. The thing that causes grief is not fixable with time. Grief isn’t either. Time doesn’t fix it and so not feeling it and moving ahead with life does not usually help. We just have to feel it to learn to live with it. This Care Package is unlike the others. It is less personal narrative, more literature, listicles, and other resources. I don't have it in me to write about grief to 250 people, and even if I could it would hardly be helpful. As this essay (linked) by David Kesseler puts so succinctly
“Over many years of grief work, I’ve come to realize that if I’ve seen one person in grief, I’ve only seen that one person in grief. I can’t compare one griever to another, even if they’re in the same family. One sister cries a lot and the other one doesn’t. One son is vulnerable and raw. The other just wants to move on. Some people are expressive. Others shy away from their feelings. Some have more feelings. Some have less. Some are more productive and practical in their grieving style. They have a “buckle down and move on” mentality.”
Here (linked), Aunty Margaret Parker from the Punjima people in north-west Western Australia describes what happens in an Aboriginal community when someone dies
"A cultural practice of our people of great importance relates to our attitude to death in our families. Like when we have someone passed away in our families and not even our own close families, the family belongs to us all, you know. The whole community gets together and shares that sorrow within the whole community."
Turns out, Indians are very ill-prepared to cope with death because of cultural resistance where most people consider it inauspicious to talk about it openly, much less prepare for impending loss, as noted by a paper published by TISS in 2017.
The community grieving rituals we do have in India are impersonal and inadequate to hold grief. Like everything else, I have seen grieving rituals be more about the family’s “honor”. Who can give the largest donations or feed most brahmins or the variety in the menu at bhoj (the dinner cooked for friends and family on the 13th day after death in certain parts of the country) than about the person who died and the people they left behind. & that is what is important right? It is important to remember them, honor them, and speak of them. When we do not get a place to do that at the designated time to grieve - it spills over - gets tucked in our conversation with others. I the grieving person is offered platitudes or asked to look at the silver lining, when they speak of their dead, then the floodgates are raised again. They start to believe that their dead person makes their friend uncomfortable and the grief remains inside.
In 2016, I had to write the law school entrance exam in June. Everyone I knew was falling apart with grief and my teenager brain thought, if I can ace it I’ll make it a little better for all of them. I locked myself in a room, thinking I will study like mad and that will help me and them. I ended up losing myself on the internet. I speak to strangers on Omegle telling them of how I was hurting, till they inauspiciously left the chat. I watched GoT after avoiding it for years and felt nothing when gory things happened. I did everything but the things I was supposed to - grieve and study. I didn’t ask for help. I didn’t cry. I didn't even tell anyone I was hurting, and how. My whole family was in shambles and I did not want to burden my teenage friends with this pain because every time I tried to speak of my dead sister- they would offer comfort by saying they are sorry, and slowly changing the subject. I saw their unease and I had no one. The grief remained in me. What started as a way to make everyone a little happy again ended with me finding the release after bawling for 10 days at a Vipassana meditation centre, all alone, 4 years after the fact. Even though grieving didn't end ( it never does) I can think of her as a twinkle in my life now, honour her for who she was - the sensible one, the responsible one, the one who did whatever she wanted after getting all the adults to agree with her. After I allowed myself to feel the pain of her death, she is back on the pedestal of my sister from memory I avoided like COVID-19.
[OBIT] The Blue Dress
Victoria Chang
The Blue Dress—died on August 6,
2015, along with the little blue flowers,
all silent. Once the petals looked up.
Now small pieces of dust. I wonder
whether they burned the dress or just
the body? I wonder who lifted her up
into the fire? I wonder if her hair
brushed his cheek before it grew into a
bonfire? I wonder what sound the body
made as it burned? They dyed her hair
for the funeral, too black. She looked
like a comic character. I waited for the
next comic panel, to see the speech
bubble and what she might say. But her
words never came and we were left
with the stillness of blown glass. The
irreversibility of rain. And millions of
little blue flowers. Imagination is having
to live in a dead person’s future. Grief is
wearing a dead person’s dress forever.
I'm not saying your grieving person has to feel their feelings the way I had to. I am saying, in case they need to feel the pain to accept it, you can hold space for them to do that. As has been a recurring theme of this newsletter - we need others. Especially in grief. It is a terrible, isolating experience even when you do ask for help. And yes, most of it you have to carry alone, but you can have someone be by you while you carry this new weight, at least until your muscles get used to it. In the words of Adrienne Rich - there must be those among whom we can sit down and weep, and still be counted as warriors.
“Grief is a force of energy that cannot be controlled or predicted. It comes and goes on its own schedule. Grief does not obey your plans, or your wishes. Grief will do whatever it wants to you, whenever it wants to. In that regard, Grief has a lot in common with Love.” - Elizabeth Gilbert
The Good Place
For teacher’s day in class XI, I had gotten the coveted spot of the compere. I was thrilled to have finally had my talents recognised in that dumb school and was excitedly preparing for it when we hear that Kriti, a bright student of class IX - daughter of a teacher, beloved by most was in the ICU. I knew her a little after helping her with debating and dancing here and there. Ask.fm was all the rage back then and hers was filled with hate and admiration - the sign of a ‘popular teenager’. There was an unease in the auditorium that whole day, but we kept the dry runs going. Early the next day we hear that she has passed away, her organs rapidly gave up and that was it. The whole school went into mourning. I looked at them, confused. Most didn't even know her well but were suddenly all crying. I, myself, couldn’t keep my tears in but mine came more from the realization that if people this young can die too, what of the older people I loved? I cannot remember where I read "समूह में विलाप करती औरतें अपना दुःख रो रही होती हैं" and it is true right? So many of us (especially neurodivergent people) relate to others and express this understanding by offering/thinking of a similar instance from their own life. It is to let the other person know that they are not alone in their pain and that others can empathize. As I have come to learn - empathy does not help at that moment. If someone who I was fighting with for ordering pizza without me yesterday is smoke today- I do not have the emotional space to want someone to empathize with me. I just want you to sit with me, watch me wail and not try to make it better.
I Like You by Sandol Stoddard Warburg
That being said, it is so, so difficult to watch someone grieve, what can you say? As Seneca observed in a letter to his grieving mother -
“A man lifting his head from the very funeral pyre must need some novel vocabulary not drawn from ordinary everyday condolence to comfort his own dear ones. But every great and overpowering grief must take away the capacity to choose words, since it often stifles the voice itself.”
Megan Devine, the writer of ‘Its OK if you’re not OK’ has provided this list of how to support a grieving friend (& has created this video) -
"Many people truly want to help a friend or family member who is experiencing a severe loss. Words often fail us at times like these, leaving us stammering for the right thing to say. Some people are so afraid to say or do the wrong thing, they choose to do nothing at all. Doing nothing at all is certainly an option, but it’s not often a good one.
While there is no one perfect way to respond or to support someone you care about, here are some good ground rules-
1. Grief belongs to the griever.
You have a supporting role, not the central role, in your friend’s grief. This may seem like a strange thing to say. So much of the advice, suggestions, and “help” given to grieving people tells them they should be doing this differently or feeling differently than they do. Grief is a very personal experience and belongs entirely to the person experiencing it. You may believe you would do things differently if it had happened to you. We hope you do not get the chance to find out. This grief belongs to your friend: follow their lead.
2. Stay present and state the truth.
It’s tempting to make statements about the past or the future when your friend’s present life holds so much pain. You cannot know what the future will be, for yourself or your friend—it may or may not be better “later.” That your friend’s life was good in the past is not a fair trade for the pain of now. Stay present with your friend, even when the present is full of pain.
It’s also tempting to make generalized statements about the situation in an attempt to soothe your friend. You cannot know that your friend’s loved one “finished their work here,” or that they are in a “better place.” These future-based, omniscient, generalized platitudes aren’t helpful. Stick with the truth: This hurts. I love you. I’m here.
3. Do not try to fix the unfixable.
Your friend’s loss cannot be fixed or repaired or solved. The pain itself cannot be made better. Please see #2. Do not say anything that tries to fix the unfixable, and you will do just fine. It is an unfathomable relief to have a friend who does not try to take the pain away.
4. Be willing to witness searing, unbearable pain.
To do #4 while also practicing #3 is very, very hard.
5. This is not about you.
Being with someone in pain is not easy. You will have things come up—stresses, questions, anger, fear, guilt. Your feelings will likely be hurt. You may feel ignored and unappreciated. Your friend cannot show up for their part of the relationship very well. Please don’t take it personally, and please don’t take it out on them. Please find your own people to lean on at this time—it’s important that you be supported while you support your friend. When in doubt, refer to #1.
6. Anticipate, don’t ask.
Do not say, “Call me if you need anything,” because your friend will not call. Not because they do not need, but because identifying a need, figuring out who might fill that need, and then making a phone call to ask is light years beyond their energy levels, capacity or interest. Instead, make concrete offers: “I will be there at 4:00 p.m. on Thursday to bring your recycling to the curb,” or “I will stop by each morning on my way to work and give the dog a quick walk.” Be reliable.
7. Do the recurring things.
The actual, heavy, real work of grieving is not something you can do (see #1), but you can lessen the burden of “normal” life requirements for your friend. Are there recurring tasks or chores that you might do? Things like walking the dog, refilling prescriptions, shoveling snow, and bringing in the mail are all good choices. Support your friend in small, ordinary ways—these things are tangible evidence of love.
Please try not to do anything that is irreversible—like doing laundry or cleaning up the house—unless you check with your friend first. That empty soda bottle beside the couch may look like trash, but may have been left there by their husband just the other day. The dirty laundry may be the last thing that smells like her. Do you see where I’m going here? Tiny little normal things become precious. Ask first.
8. Tackle projects together.
Depending on the circumstance, there may be difficult tasks that need tending—things like casket shopping, mortuary visits, the packing and sorting of rooms or houses. Offer your assistance and follow through with your offers. Follow your friend’s lead in these tasks. Your presence alongside them is powerful and important; words are often unnecessary. Remember #4: bear witness and be there.
9. Run interference.
To the new griever, the influx of people who want to show their support can be seriously overwhelming. What is an intensely personal and private time can begin to feel like living in a fish bowl. There might be ways you can shield and shelter your friend by setting yourself up as the designated point person—the one who relays information to the outside world, or organizes well-wishers. Gatekeepers are really helpful.
10. Educate and advocate.
You may find that other friends, family members, and casual acquaintances ask for information about your friend. You can, in this capacity, be a great educator, albeit subtly. You can normalize grief with responses like, “She has better moments and worse moments and will for quite some time. An intense loss changes every detail of your life.” If someone asks you about your friend a little further down the road, you might say things like, “Grief never really stops. It is something you carry with you in different ways.”
11. Love.
Above all, show your love. Show up. Say something. Do something. Be willing to stand beside the gaping hole that has opened in your friend’s life, without flinching or turning away. Be willing to not have any answers. Listen. Be there. Be present. Be a friend. Be love. Love is the thing that lasts.
Words of grieving people/words of people offering comfort to help you understand what your grieving person could be feeling, what other people in your position have said ---
“Grief turns out to be a place none of us know until we reach it. We anticipate (we know) that someone close to us could die, but we do not look beyond the few days or weeks that immediately follow such an imagined death. We misconstrue the nature of even those few days or weeks. We might expect if the death is sudden to feel shock. We do not expect the shock to be obliterative, dislocating to both body and mind. We might expect that we will be prostrate, inconsolable, crazy with loss. We do not expect to be literally crazy, cool customers who believe that their husband is about to return and need his shoes. In the version of grief we imagine, the model will be “healing.” A certain forward movement will prevail. The worst days will be the earliest days. We imagine that the moment to most severely test us will be the funeral, after which this hypothetical healing will take place. When we anticipate the funeral we wonder about failing to “get through it,” rise to the occasion, exhibit the “strength” that invariably gets mentioned as the correct response to death. We anticipate needing to steel ourselves for the moment: will I be able to greet people, will I be able to leave the scene, will I be able even to get dressed that day? We have no way of knowing that this will not be the issue. We have no way of knowing that the funeral itself will be anodyne, a kind of narcotic regression in which we are wrapped in the care of others and the gravity and meaning of the occasion. Nor can we know ahead of the fact (and here lies the heart of the difference between grief as we imagine it and grief as it is) the unending absence that follows, the void, the very opposite of meaning, the relentless succession of moments during which we will confront the experience of meaninglessness itself.” - Joan Didion
Funeral Blues
WH Auden
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Speaking to my Dead Mother
Ruth Stone
At two A.M. in Binghamton, it's quiet.
I did not comfort you with one last kiss.
Your death was my death. Instinct ran riot.
I ran. Didn't hold your hand at the abyss.
My life had gone like grass fire; like the trees
in drought, caught in the burning wind. And June
returns, another cycled year. Sweet-peas,
dahlias, phlox; the orchard I can't prune;
your small garden gloves, remnants of crystal
stemware. It wears away. I cannot bar
the passage. Jewelweed shoots its pistol
pouch of seeds and the storm, like a guitar,
thrums over the mountain. All that brooded,
ignorant in your safe arms, concluded.
The Reassurance
Thom Gunn
About ten days or so
After we saw you dead
You came back in a dream.
I'm all right now you said.
And it was you, although
You were fleshed out again:
You hugged us all round then,
And gave your welcoming beam.
How like you to be kind,
Seeking to reassure.
And, yes, how like my mind
To make itself secure.
The Sadness of Clothes
Emily Fragos
When someone dies, the clothes are so sad. They have outlived
their usefulness and cannot get warm and full.
You talk to the clothes and explain that he is not coming back
as when he showed up immaculately dressed in slacks and plaid jacket
and had that beautiful smile on and you’d talk.
You’d go to get something and come back and he’d be gone.
You explain death to the clothes like that dream.
You tell them how much you miss the spouse
and how much you miss the pet with its little winter sweater.
You tell the worn raincoat that if you talk about it,
you will finally let grief out. The ancients etched the words
for battle and victory onto their shields and then they went out
and fought to the last breath. Words have that kind of power
you remind the clothes that remain in the drawer, arms stubbornly
folded across the chest, or slung across the backs of chairs,
or hanging inside the dark closet. Do with us what you will,
they faintly sigh, as you close the door on them.
He is gone and no one can tell us where.
Resources you can send to your grieving person if you think they may help -
Grief resource (highly recommended) - https://refugeingrief.com/
Books
Its ok to not be ok, Megan Devine
Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Dear Sugar, Cheryl Strayed
Mourning Diary, Roland Barthes
Smile or Die: How Positive Thinking Fooled America and the World, Barbara Ehrenreich
Our World, Mary Oliver
Cry, Heart, But Never Break by Glenn Ringtved
The year of magical thinking, Joan Didion
The Art of Losing: Poems of Grief and Healing, Kevin
Obit, Victoria Chang
Conversations with Grief, Tetyana Denford
Life on Mars, Tracy K Smith
Music
Jimmy Lee – Raphael Saadiq
Thanks for the Dance, Leonard Cohen
Mingus, Joni Mitchell
Nothing Compares 2 U – Sinead O’Connor
Carrie and Lowell, Sufjan Stevens
Central Park in the Dark, Charles Ives
Literary Essays/Articles
Joy Katz, Left Behind - https://www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/70072/left-behind
Carol Smith, A Stone You Cannot Put Down https://lithub.com/a-stone-you-never-put-down-the-secret-languages-of-grief/
Maryanne O’Hara The Salvific Power of Writing Through Grief https://lithub.com/the-salvific-power-of-writing-through-terrible-grief/
Tracy K. Smith, Poet Tracy K. Smith On Grief In The Holidays And 'Different Vocabularies For Feeling'
Podcast
Pauline Boss, “The Myth of Closure,” https://onbeing.org/programs/pauline-boss-navigating-loss-without-closure/
Pauline Boss, ‘Ambiguous Loss and the 2020 Pandemic’ https://shows.acast.com/mindofstate/episodes/ambiguous-loss-and-the-2020-pandemic
https://mirabaistarr.wordpress.com/2011/01/12/softening-into-the-pain/
Elizabeth Gilbert Shows up for Everything
https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/elizabeth-gilbert-shows-up-for-everything/id1437306870?i=1000421929243&mt=2
Beyond the Artifice of Elegy, Mary Szybist
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/podcasts/76744/beyond-the-artifice-of-elegy
