Feeling helpless about how to help a friend or family member who's mourning a loss? Small acts speak volumes. Here's how to help someone who's grieving, in simple, thoughtful ways:
1. Listen.
There's no need to rush in with words of comfort, especially if they don't come naturally.
Better: Simply make a space, with your companionable silence, for the bereaved to express herself if she chooses.
2. Don't hurry an emotional moment.
A common impulse when someone gets choked up with grief is to change the subject and try to shift to safer emotional ground.
Better: See the moment through. Pause. Offer a hug. Share your own comment about the person who died, if it feels appropriate.
3. Talk about the person who died.
Don't avoid mentioning the person who died; he or she is still very much in the minds of grieving family and friends.
Better: Reminisce or mention how the person inspired you or made you happy. When they naturally come to mind, don't be afraid to say things like, "Wouldn't Susan have loved these flowers?" or, "I can just hear Bill saying, 'It's a great day for golf!'"
4. Stick to honesty over platitudes.
There's no "right" thing to say to a survivor, but there are plenty of wrong things, like these 10 things never to say to someone who's grieving.
Better: If you're tongue-tied, acknowledge it. Try, "I don't know what to say. Please know I'm thinking about you." Or, "I can't imagine what each day is like for you now. I'm here for you."
5. Don't ask how you can help; just do.
Asking even simple questions ("Do you want me to pick up milk for you?" "What do you like to eat?") puts an added burden on the bereaved. Especially soon after a death, someone who's mourning may be physically and emotionally incapable of such decision making.
Better: Simply step in when you see a need: Furnish a meal (ready to eat or freeze, in disposable containers that don't need to be returned), organize regular meal delivery, pick up milk or eggs or fresh bread when you're at the store and leave them in a cooler on the porch, mow the lawn, take care of the car pool, stop by to walk and feed the dog. Think of essential tasks that can be handled unobtrusively.
good to know the do's and don'ts
This article suggest great tips for someone who have absolutely any idea as to how to comfort or soothe a love one....in a non-invasive manner.
I realllly appreciate this advice-filled article. I am usually so sensitive, I often find myself avoiding people who have experienced a loss because I don't know what to say. This article provides some very useful tips. I especially liked the tip that you shouldn't ask what you can do. I never considered that angle of the grieving process.
I have been through the loss of a wife some years ago. It is totally different than loosing my Dad or Mother was. I have tried to talk to my current wife about things that may happen after I am gone (I'm terminal now). She has already begun to grieve and it hurts to see it in her. My deceased wife knew nothing about any of the end of life process and I handled it the best I could. I found that there is no way that you can satisfy every family member. You satisfy one and that offends another.
# 5
I have just found this website, and LOVE Paula Spencer's pieces. This one, in particular, I was delighted to read. I can be quite insensitive about many things, but not this. I have, somehow, almost always been able to do most things in this article intuitively--perhaps just because I know that those are the things I would want. In particular, the issue of time limits for grief just galls me. When I hear anyone say things like that to one who has suffered that kind of loss, I HAVE to interrupt, and always with the same remark and fervor: NO, NO, NO! There is no time limit for grief. There is never an end to it. And it doesn't get easier, it just gets different. You get THROUGH it somehow, in time, but you never get OVER it. And your grief is your own, to suffer in your own way. Talk about it if you want to; don't if you don't. Cry if you need to, don't if you don't. I'm here. I get it. I think of it as my mantra of grief.