The art of consolation
‘She’s in a better place.’ ‘It was God’s will.’ And other things you shouldn’t say or do when someone dies.
I am writing a lot of sympathy cards these days. If you are middle-aged like me, chances are you are too. And even if you’re not, you may have experienced the death of a parent or perhaps an untimely and unfair death from an accident, suicide or violence. My father’s death when I was 23 was the first major upset to my world. But it also revealed the truly humane ways people can provide consolation and primed me for an avocation of doing the same for others. Here’s what I’ve learned about the art of consolation.
Just listen
Loss is universal. Chances are you, too, have lost a loved one, and you surely empathize; but for now, just listen.
Don’t talk more than the bereaved. People need to tell their stories. Hopefully you had the chance to do so at the time of your loss. If not, or you still need to, then talk to others who are not so raw or still reeling from their own loss. Join a bereavement group.
“We don’t allot much space to grieve in this culture,” says Leslie Wolowitz, a clinical psychologist and psychotherapist in Chicago. “Someone else’s grief may present itself then as an opportunity to share grief stories, but for someone who’s freshly experienced a loss, that may feel intrusive or competitive.”
Avoid trite expressions
My father’s sudden death elicited many comforting and straightforward responses. The grandmother of a friend said simply, “This is terrible!” which touched me with its directness.
However, my mother’s death three years ago at age 84 after a clash with cancer engendered some pat phrases that made me bristle:
“At least your mother’s death wasn’t tragic.” (All deaths are tragic for the bereaved.)
“At least she is not suffering anymore.” (True, but I am.)
Others shared with me some expressions that did not sit well with them: “She’s in a better place.” “It was God’s will.” “But he lived a long life!” “Your brother would not want you to be sad!”
And this whopper: “Welcome
to the widows’ club.”
Though they may be well intended, they still feel like platitudes.
Don’t say there are no words
We’re often at a loss for words. This is understandable; few of us are wordsmiths. But we should rise to the task. Don’t say or write, “There are no words.” Find some.
And if you can’t, borrow someone else’s thoughtful and wise words or poems. Send a quote from the Bible, but not to someone who is not religious.
“If you are struggling,” says Pastor Chris Butler, who has been leading the Chicago Embassy Church for over three years, “say, ‘I am struggling to find the words but want you to know I am thinking of you and holding you close in my thoughts to support you.’ ”
Cut people some slack
In the days following my father’s funeral, I accompanied my mother on many errands. She would tell each merchant we visited, “I buried my husband on Tuesday.” I remember feeling embarrassed, until, fast forward 30 years, it was I sharing my sorrow about her death with the world. I could have worn a T-shirt that read, “I just lost my mother,” to explain the pain I was sure I emitted.
In the weeks following her father’s death, my friend Libby referred to herself as a menace to society. “My old friends knew me well enough to know that I am usually an optimistic, even cheerful person, and so they could tread lightly around me, forgive me for my gloom and impatience with everyone,” she said.
Don’t diminish a pet’s death
I don’t mean to be flippant by bringing up pets, but the many unhelpful things people say hit home again last year when my dog died.
One friend offered to “put it in perspective for me,” with the story of a recent death of a young man. And there were others who shared their own dying dog stories, blow by blow, while I was still raw from the pain of losing our companion of almost 13 years.
Of course a human’s death is more significant than a pet’s. But the most humane thing one can do is to listen without trying to mediate.
Write or talk about what you know
Share something positive the bereaved might not know about their loved one.
My father’s last employer was a small company where he worked just a few months. After his death, a few co-workers paid us a condolence call while my family was sitting shiva. “Your father would crack us up with his jokes,” they said. I wondered if they were at the right house. My father had suffered from depression. It comforted me to have this fresh memory of my dad entertaining his co-workers with the dry wit that I knew he had, but hadn’t witnessed in years.
I remembered this when I was writing a note to an acquaintance, Alice. Her late husband had been a teacher at my sons’ preschool. Because of him, my sons benefited from a music program he introduced. I told her I attributed their musical passion to him, that this was part of his legacy. She thanked me for making her feel he lived on in his students.
A template for writing a card
1. Express your condolences. Say you are sorry, saddened, devastated, shocked — whatever it is you truly feel — about the death.
2. Don’t use euphemisms for death (passed away, moving on, loss, in a better place).
3. Tell the bereaved something about the deceased that they might not know. Tell them how the person helped you or made an impact on you or made you feel. Be specific.
4. Don’t make a vague offer of help, such as, “If there’s anything I can do, let me know.” Just do something you think will help (bring food, walk the dog).
5. Optionally, make a gift to a charity that will honor the memory of the deceased.
A word about social media
A college friend was widowed last year and shared her grief journey on Facebook. We commented supportively on her posts. I wondered how my mother might have grieved publicly had this medium existed when she was newly widowed.
Butler advises, “Don’t take the lead on social media; follow the lead of the bereaved on social media, as well as in real life.”
There is no statute of limitations on grief
About three months after my mother died, I attended a bereavement group around Mother’s Day with others who were grieving their mothers. Participants ranged in age from 20s to 60s, and our losses were as recent as mine and as far back as a decade.
“For most people, grief doesn’t go away, it just changes,” says Joshua Magariel, national director of patient experience at Seasons Hospice & Palliative Care.
“One of the things we used to talk a lot more about was the idea of closure, the time to let go, the time to find acceptance. There’s a whole area of expertise within the field of bereavement about continuing bonds. We might say that there is closure for bank accounts, but not for love accounts. Love and relationships are enduring.”