…someone who is grieving
Being a good friend to someone who is grieving is the hardest job in the world. You’re probably terrified of saying the wrong thing, your own fears surrounding death and mortality could have been heightened by the news, and you could also be grieving for the same person. On top of all that, your friend’s behaviour may make it hard for you to actually be a friend to them. Grief affects us in so many more ways than the traditional five-stage model allows for. When my husband died, I found my grief provoked rage, terror, madness, sadness, depression, anxiety, lethargy, grumpiness, panic, confusion, pain: you name it, it was in there. Confronted by someone exhibiting this odd mixture of rapidly changing emotions, how on earth are you meant to know how to support them?
Most importantly, allow the contradictions. You may expect crying, and they probably will be doing a lot of that, but they will be doing a lot of other things, too – which often may not make sense to you. It may not make sense to them, either, so just allow whatever comes up to be there. Like a small child, they may veer uncontrollably from sobbing to shouting; from needing to talk to needing to be silent; from wanting the distraction of
‘Keep checking in – months, years ahead’
efficiently getting on with paperwork one minute, to feeling like even picking up a teacup is beyond their capabilities the next. I found that the most helpful friends were those who just let me be me in all my messiness, those with whom I didn’t have to pretend, and who just remained calm and loving throughout. So, don’t take offence if they suddenly burst into tears in the middle of one of your supposedly funny stories, or lose their temper irrationally. It’s the grief talking, it’s not about you.
In a way, you need to do what we psychotherapists do with our clients – be alongside them in their pain, compassionately, non-judgementally and without allowing our own ‘stuff’ to get in the way. But we train for many years to learn how to do that, and you are going to have to do it from within the midst of your own grief and fear.
So, my next suggestion is: look after yourself. This might seem perverse, but it will enable you to help your friend better, and for longer. Always put your own oxygen mask on first, because you can’t help them if you are burnt out or resentful. Remembering that you are not there to solve things or make things better may help you to regulate your own feelings. You are there to accompany your friend on their journey. So, follow their lead. Don’t assume you know what is best for them, and don’t try to impose your own ideas about what is helpful.
Know and work to your strengths. If you are a good listener, then offer that. But if you suspect that you will struggle to manage your own grief, then offer practical rather than emotional support. Draw up a list of tasks and sign up volunteers for each. For instance: find people to move in, so the grieving friend doesn’t have to spend nights alone; identify the insomniacs who are happy to receive phone calls in the early hours, so your friend knows who they can call when the night terrors strike; find people to cook and clean; find vases for all the flowers that will arrive; help plan the funeral, deal with paperwork, spread the word, cancel the griever’s work and other commitments. And very importantly, plan something nice for a few weeks hence, to fill the awful time after the funeral when the ‘drama’ starts to subside and everyone else returns to their lives, while the griever’s has changed for ever.
Communicate. Listen. Let them talk. They may need to tell their stories over and over – both of how the death came about, and reminiscences of the life they had with the person they have lost. Storytelling can help the news to sink in, and also keep the person ‘alive’ by talking about them. You can help by sharing your own memories and sadness about the person who has been lost – knowing that others also miss them can really help someone who is grieving. But if the immersion in memories and grief becomes overwhelming – which it will do, at times – then help your friend find simple distractions. If they don’t feel able to leave the house, give them (or recommend) books, podcasts, magazines or films. Or if they are able to go out, then go for a walk together, feed the ducks, find a dog to cuddle. Whatever it is, let it feel manageable and untaxing.
Keep checking in – months, years ahead. Their grief does not end. They may not show it as much but it is there, however fine they seem on the surface. You don’t need to say anything profound – just a text now and then saying, ‘I’m thinking of you’ or ‘I’m thinking of X’.
Know your importance. From within the madness, the one good thing I could take from the whole tragic mess, the thing that got me through, was knowing that my friends were there for me. Not so much for the practical support they provided, useful though that was, but because I felt I was still loved, and I still mattered to someone. In a way, what my friends said or did, what they got ‘wrong’ or ‘right’, how clumsy they were in their speech or actions – all that mattered less than the fact that they were there for me.
Languages Of Loss: A Psychotherapist’s Journey Through Grief (Yellow Kite) by Sasha Bates is out now