The Elephant in the Room: How to Talk to Those Experiencing Grief

Posted on by stilllearning2b

When bad things happen to good people, we’re often at a loss of how to respond and what to say. The loss becomes the elephant in the room – too unwieldy to discuss yet too big to ignore.

Here are some thoughts on how to talk to people who are dealing with loss or tragedy:

 

 

Bringing It Up

Sometimes we hesitate to bring the subject, as though the person has forgotten that their husband has left or their family member has died. You don’t have to worry about saying something that will make them think about something that they’re not already thinking about.

When everybody refuses to acknowledge the loss, it can lead the heartbroken to believe that they are alone in their pain. The mention of it lets them know that they’re not alone in their memories and their suffering.

All that being said, be cognizant about when you bring it up. At work, the person may be doing all they can to hold their grief behind a dam of conviction. And a reminder at that point may breach that wall. Also, be mindful of their response to your words. If they change the subject or shut it down, respect their wishes. If they want to talk, listen.

If you’re the one suffering in silence, let people know if and when it is okay to bring it up.  And if your friends and family cannot talk about it, perhaps it’s time to find a support group of people who can.

 

Speaking About Your Experiences

It’s natural for you to want to share your similar experiences. And there is quite a lot to be said about the power of “me too.” Yet be careful here not to minimize the experience of someone else by implying (or stating outright) that your situation was worse. Also refrain from claiming that you know exactly how they feel. Even if the circumstances are identical, the responses won’t be. Your experiences may allow you to empathize, but that’s a long way from actually being in their shoes.

If you stick your foot in your mouth by complaining about how bad traffic was on the way to their loved one’s funeral, apologize. And then forgive yourself. When we’re emotional, we often respond with nervous energy and a lack of appropriate filters.

If you’re on the other side and somebody says something ignorant to you, try to let it go. They are either trying to connect and they failed miserably or they haven’t experienced anything in the same universe as what you’re going through and they’re clueless.

 

Offering Platitudes

“It’s for the best.”

“God doesn’t give you more than you can handle.”

“It was meant to be.”

Just don’t. I am a huge believer in silver linings, yet there is also a hell of a lot of polishing that has to happen before you can see those. And for those in the midst of grief, there’s nothing shiny about what they’re seeing.

Often what people need more than an assurance that it will be okay is reassurance that it’s okay for them to not be okay right now.

Instead of platitude, offer condolences. Offer thoughts. Offer prayers. And offer to just listen, without judgement.

If you receive some of these platitudes, try to remember that they’re coming from a place of love. Those who care about you don’t want to see you hurt and they’re trying to reassure you (and them) that you’ll make it through.

 

Expecting Them To Be “Over It”

Grief does not speak calendar. They’re not going to be suddenly healed after a month. Or three. Or even a dozen. The pain of loss ebbs and flows, but it is always there like the pools left behind from an outgoing tide.

It’s unfair to expect them to be “back to normal” after a period of time. In fact, their normal may in fact be different now. Be compassionate about where they are in their pain. Accept that they have been changed by their experience and that this is not about making you feel comfortable.

If you’re experiencing people telling you that you should be “over it,” begin by asking yourself if there is any credibility to their claim. It’s easy to become stuck in grief and sometimes this is how others let us know that we need help to keep moving. If this is not the case, read this and try to refrain from punching the person.

 

Accepting Your Own Triggers

Loss has a strange way of bringing up all past losses. When you look at the faces at a funeral, some are crying for the life being honored on that day, some are crying at the remembrance of past losses and many are weeping for both.

Be mindful of your own triggers when helping someone else through their grief. These can be reminders about your past experiences or even triggered fears about what could happen to you in the future. This is one (of so many) reasons that losing a child is so hard – the other parents cannot bear to fathom that loss themselves and so they often create distance from the impacted family.

Be honest about what you’re feeling. If needed, get support for yourself so that you can be present for your loved one.

If you’re the one facing loss, understand that not everybody will be able to be present for you because of their own struggles. It doesn’t mean they care about you any less, it just means they are also wrestling with their own emotions.

 

Overall, the most important thing you can do for somebody else is to simply be there. Letting them know that they are not alone.

Baptism By Tears

Posted on by stilllearning2b

September 12, 2001 was my first day in a classroom as a teacher.

I walked into that classroom still shocky and raw, my face puffy and eyes red from a sleepless night spent watching the news. My body protested its now-upward stance, wanting to re-establish the fetal curl that it had formed for the last day.

I walked into that classroom still unsure of the state of the country and even more unsure of my role with these students. I wanted someone to tell me it was going to be okay. I wanted someone to tell me what to do. But now I was the one who was supposed to the calming and the directing.

I walked into that classroom and saw dozens of faces, questioning and scared, mirroring my own. I may have been the teacher, but this was one lesson I didn’t know the answer to.

The pledge that morning broke out of its usual autopilot, each word felt as well as spoken. During the moment of silence that followed, more than one tear dripped from mournful eyes, falling silently onto the carpeted floor.

We gathered together that day, more than one class filling a room. It was as though we needed the support of numbers and feared the threat of isolation. Without prompting, the students arranged the chairs to form a messy circle. They understood that in order to get though this, they needed to be united.

As the morning progressed, the teachers pushed their own fears and sorrows aside in order to tend to those of the students. They told stories. They asked questions. We listened and we talked. One student had a parent that was still unaccounted for. Another had an uncle working the front lines. We may have been hundreds of miles away from ground zero, but we were only inches away from tragedy.

The boundaries of teacher and student blurred on that day. We were all reduced to the lowest common denominator of humanness. And nothing else mattered. It was a moment between.

Over the next few days, we re-asssumed the roles of teachers and students, the former safely tucking emotions away in order to be the stoic guide.

It was a strange introduction to teaching.

A baptism by tears.

 

Years later, I again entered a classroom with my face stained and puffy from lack of sleep and an excess of tears. But this was a personal tragedy, one that I did not share with the students. I tried to remain stoic and composed, but sometimes the pain broke through. And even though we never spoke of it, the students somehow knew. And they met my vulnerability with compassion and patience. They never questioned my absences or my laspes in attention.  They may never know how much their kind words or unexpected hugs helped me through that year.

 

It was a reminder that we are all students as well as teachers.

That vulnerability can be embraced rather than attacked.

And that tears are a christening that we all understand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fear in the Driver’s Seat

Posted on by stilllearning2b

When tragedies happen, we seek understanding. We want to diagnose and cure. We often try to control our surroundings and the actions of others.

We want to feel safe. It’s a basic need. That desire for security is so primal, so strong, that it can cause us to behave irrationally. I experienced this myself in my teenage years. From my softmore year in high school to my freshman year in college, I had 13 friends or mentors die. I will never forget receiving the news of the final  two. I was in Austin for college when I called a friend back home in San Antonio to see about getting together on an upcoming break. She told me the news about the latest two deaths.

I broke. I simply couldn’t handle any more loss. My reaction? I shrunk my world. I no longer stayed in contact with high school friends. I built walls to keep out new friends. My then-boyfriend (now ex-husband) was the only one that I allowed to stay close. It worked. By shrinking my world, I eliminated the potential for hearing about or being affected by tragedy. The odds were stacked in my favor. After all, I only had one person in my inner circle.

And then there were none. My greatest fear came true; I lost him as well. Surprisingly, I was okay. I realized that my old ways of living in my walled-off world simply guaranteed less happiness at the time and yet provided no guarantee against loss in the future. I grew less afraid. More willing to take risks. I let people get close. Some have stayed, others have moved on. That’s okay. I am figuring out how to live with the natural cycles of growth and decay rather than try to fight against them.

It’s natural to examine your surroundings after a tragedy. To evaluate the weaknesses around you and to shore up any breaches in the hull. That increased security always has a tradeoff, however. It’s up to you to decide if that particular exchange is worth it.

More than a million people die in traffic accidents worldwide each year. We take precautions to keep this from happening. We gladly pay extra for cars with added safety measures, we sacrifice some comfort when we pull the seatbelt around our chests, and we write and enforce laws that limit who can drive and under what conditions they can operate a vehicle. I think we can all agree that these are reasonable measures; they balance security and freedom. Yet, how many of us look at the statistics for traffic fatalities and decide to never enter a car again? Very few. The tradeoff simply isn’t worth it.

It can be scary out there. Recent events have shown us that we cannot assume safety in our theaters, malls, or schools. There can be a temptation to scale back, pull into a shell and seal it shut. Like with me after the deaths, it does tilt the odds in your favor, but it doesn’t eliminate the risk. And, speaking from experience, life behind walls is no way to live.

Fear is an important feeling. It tells us to run when we are being chased. It tells us to seek shelter when we are under attack. It tells us to avoid high and unstable cliffs or dangerous stunts. However, fear also tells us not to love. It whispers avoidance of risk even when those chances can lead to something great. Fear tells you to hunker down and wait rather than live. Listen to your fears. But you don’t have to believe everything they say.

So continue to wear your seatbelt, but don’t neglect to drive your life.

drive

Sometimes

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Sometimes there are no words that can provide comfort. Sometimes there is no understanding to be found. Sometimes all we have is a relieved embrace and a reminder to treasure every moment.