It’s hard to know what to say when you are comforting someone who is grieving. In past, I’ve felt the need to avoid doing it altogether - although this is not always possible or appropriate. I’ve googled what to say and copied words cooked up by someone else for the fear of accidentally saying the imperfect thing. I’ve worried about grammar. As if flawless grammar will help the person experiencing grief heal quicker. Or I’d cheat if it was on social media. I’d look in the comments from others and respond with a different version of the same words.
I'm sorry for your loss. This must be hard. I wish you strength.
There’s never a perfect thing to say for an occasion like this. This week I’m on the receiving end of those comforting words. Facing loss of my own 10 year old pup. I can confirm that the pain remains irrespective of the perfect words you are thinking of saying. Even those with exquisite grammar.
The loss of a pet isn’t seen by most as comparable to that of losing a person. I don’t know if this is true. I don’t think I even care. I haven’t lost a person yet that was as immediate family as Silo was. And, Silo was family. I don’t know what to compare this to. This is a first.
And then, when someone comforts me I don’t know how to respond. I know from experience that it must have taken some courage for them to overcome that dreaded interaction with me. Saying the right thing to a grieving person is not easy - as we've established. My people pleaser brain still kicks in. How primitive. I don’t want to make them feel uncomfortable with my painfully bare wound.
Thank you for your thoughts and kind words. He was a good boy.
This is the best I can come up with. If I said more, I’d overshare. It would be unfair to place the burden of understanding this pain on someone who isn’t the right person. We have to remember that. The wrong person isn’t a bad person. They simply are not positioned for understanding the grief well.
The Right Person
In the last few days, being vulnerable about this experience with the right person has made a noticeable difference. Even the right person doesn’t know what the appropriate comforting words are but with them just listening, the brain feels slightly less numb. A touch lighter. The right person stumbles in their words too but there’s a difference in how they listen vs someone who doesn’t really get it. The right person holds space. The right person doesn’t disrespect or disregard the grief and is gentle, respectful and honest in their words. The right person doesn’t cheapen the emotions that are being currently experienced. They understand the heaviness. They don’t dismiss the pain as too much. You are not expected to rush through grief. Even without having experienced a similar loss themselves, they are able to show compassion. They validate some of that hurt. They remain steady and calm. In that moment, if it helps, there’s implicit permission to fall apart. And, that is ok.
They may say - What you are going through has gotta be tough. I don’t know what to say right now, but I’m here for you. Know this.
And, this alone is enough.
The truth is: there is nothing anyone can say or do that will make the hurt disappear.
But even so, having the right person to talk to and share memories with is better than doing it alone. Holding grief inside hurts more. It expands and spreads to the whole body. Like a heavy weight that won’t lift off you or a bomb explosion happening over and over. Sharing grief is hard too - for it can be difficult to judge who will or won’t be the right person. The wrong person brings feelings of anger, defensiveness, and loneliness. But, sharing it with the right person helps. A little.
We are fortunate to have a few right people in our lives. They are mostly far from us. I’d have much wanted them to be geographically much closer. But, I’m grateful to have them in our lives at all. Their presence with us is not required to be constant. Their existence alone in the larger periphery of our lives is weirdly enough. Even if from afar. This will have to do. For now.
The right people in no particular order of their impact on our lives -
- Husbands parents
- My parents
- D
- N & S
- N & M
- R & P
- M & R
- A x 3
- Each other
I feel gratitude.
- Sneha