Need a Little Slack

​I have been on all sides of griefs, if grief has sides. A loss of thirteen family members and close friends in seven years is my qualification for experiencing grief; living life is my qualification for comforting someone in grief.  And yet, neither grieving nor comforting get any easier.

I’ve taken grief classes, been part of grief support groups, read many books on the subject, worked as a hospice volunteer and still I am, like many people, paralyzed when it comes to saying the right thing at the right time.

There is a whole swath of phrases people are cautioned not to say to a grieving person. I don’t say those things. But, everyday it seems, there are more things you shouldn’t say. The latest comes from a very articulate, thoughtful cancer survivor who explained how telling someone how strong they are can actually put more pressure on them to act that way--especially when they are feeling vulnerable and anything but strong. To have your strength recognized can make a person feel like a failure when they break down; to offer positive words of hope--“you’ll get through this”-- may make them feel trapped and invalidated, as if what they feel is small enough to capsulize.

So, when you are trying to be mindful, trying to comfort without making things worse, trying to help without minimizing someone else’s pain, you are often left without safe words. And so, you don’t say anything at all. That too, is perceived badly. All of these well-intentioned guides to what not to say and do can immobilize, leaving those who want to offer their love and support hesitant and unsure about what is acceptable to say.

We are careful with those who are grieving, recognizing that they are not wholly themselves; that they are in a different space and their lives have forever changed. We treat their words and actions gently, knowing that they are speaking and acting from a different perspective. We cut them some slack.

But, speaking from the other side of grief, maybe the comforters should be cut some slack as well. They are trying to show love and support; they are trying to help. It’s especially difficult to know what to say or do if you’ve never experienced great loss. You send flowers, agonize over a sympathy card, and offer to do anything your grieving friend might need. The flowers and cards are eventually swept up and thrown away and your friend never tells you what they need because, usually they are too caught up in surviving every day to think about someone else and how they could help.

 You stop calling because your friend doesn’t want to talk and time goes by. You, too worried about making it worse, stop calling. You live your life.  There’s nothing wrong with any of this. But there is something wrong with making people so concerned that their words will be misunderstood or add more pain, that they stop saying anything at all.
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Grievers, please see those imperfect phrases as coming from love. You are hearing them from a place of pain and pain is a poor filter. Comforters, understand that your words might not be welcome or understood in the way you meant them. Say the words from your heart anyway. Don’t worry about saying the perfect thing. Offer your love even if it is thrown back at you—because often it will be. Let’s cut each other some slack.