Tomorrow will mark one month since my dear, sweet, wonderful Dad died. I’m doing OK, but it still sucks. I still cry. I still feel sad and awful and shocked that the world keeps turning without Dad present.
But I am also starting to manage to not cry every time I see a pic of Dad or think of him. Weirdly, I feel a teensy bit guilty for not grieving 24/7. That’s normal and OK too. Grief is weird and non-linear and unpredictable.
Having survived this summer myself, I’m feeling kind of expert-y about grief (not really) and though I’d share a few things I learned in the process. If you have anything you’d add, please share in the comments.
First and foremost, don’t avoid people who are grieving because you don’t know what to say.
Is it possible you’ll say the wrong thing? Sure! But we’re mostly glad to hear from people we love, even if they say the wrong thing.
As a non-believer, I find it strange when people who know this about me offer prayers, but I take it in the spirit in which it’s intended.
When in doubt, say you’re sorry for the loss your friend has suffered and ask if there is anything you can do to make the day even a tiny bit easier.
Send a note, send a card, send flowers, send food. Whatever feels right.
I didn’t realize that everyone Mom and I had ever met would send food. That’s life in a small town, I think!
Trays started arriving within hours of my father’s death (including while I was shopping in my pajamas). We had so much food that close friends would take catering trays home for the night and bring them back the next day, knowing we would have more friends and relatives coming to share their condolences in person.
My mother and I have continued receiving cards, as well as letters acknowledging donations made to charity and research* on Dad’s behalf. Yes, sometimes they make me cry, but I am so glad for Dad to be remembered and honored.
By the way, Joanna Goddard wrote a wonderful post about condolence notes here.
Be patient when someone in your life experiences a loss.
When my dad first died, I didn’t answer my cell phone most of the time. It was too hard to keep telling the story, even to my well-intentioned, loving friends. I found that I could better handle texts and emails.
Other people may have a different point of view on this. The bottom line is to connect with those who are hurting in the way that they (not you) prefer.
Oh, the corollary to this bit about patience is that my thank you notes will be delayed, sorry.
Keep checking in.
Grief doesn’t abate after a week or a month or any specific timeframe. Your friend may be feeling embarrassed about the lingering effects of grief. I was fortunate in that I could work from home as needed. Crying jags were common and unpredictable in the first few weeks so it was nice to be home – working, crying and somethings both at the same time. I had some structure, but I could not pretend life was normal (and no one tried to tell me otherwise).
My best friend has been so lovely about mailing me little notes, in addition to emailing, texting and calling. Thank you, Jen.
Now that I have experience the loss of a parent, I feel sorry that I didn’t do more for friends when they lost loved ones. But I plan to take my own advice and check in now. It’s never too late.
Grief isn’t solely emotional.
At times, I felt like I was physically ill. I was exhausted and my appetite was weird. Some mornings, I would wake up with the intention of going to the office only to find getting out of bed was not an option.
If you’re the person grieving, check your Facebook “Other” messages when you catch your breath.
I got lovely notes from Dad’s friends with whom I wasn’t directly connected and from friends of friends with whom I wasn’t already connected on Facebook.
Accept and perhaps embrace the fact that you’ve joined a club.
It’s a really sad club, the one made up of people who have lost a parent, but these people might understand you better than someone who hasn’t suffered a great loss. I have found that friends who have lost a parent understand that their role isn’t to get me to stop crying. These friends seems to get that I’m so grateful for the chance to talk about Dad, even if it makes me cry more.
Grief doesn’t have a timeline.
My friend Liz, who also lost her father, told me I have six months to be a jerk anytime I feel like it and one year to opt out of any holiday I choose. Noted.
Some days are going to be good. Others, not so much. There’s no schedule or expiration date.
*If you’re moved to donate on behalf of my father, here’s Option 1. Specify that you wish to support Temple Hospital’s Pulmonary Hypertension Program, c/o Dr. Paul Forfia, 3401 N. Broad St., Philadelphia, PA 19140 in memory of D.K. Option 2 is a cause my family supports in Scranton.
I regret that we’re members of the same club but I assure you the pain gets bearable though never goes away. If you need reminders that you’re not alone and want to talk DM me anytime. (I’m the one who helped you with an Adobe file)
“As a non-believer, I find it strange when people who know this about me offer prayers…” That’s what happened to me too. It was annoying the first few times because I thought it was a bit disrespectful but then something occurred to me. Their prayers really weren’t do much for my loss but more for theirs. I had discounted the fact that they lost a great friend, brother and son with my Pop’s passing. I gave them some slack.
Life is always going to be different, Jen. You’re so right about that. My mom and dad passed away six months apart, when I was 45. That was a dozen years ago. I remember after my father went — both had heart attacks — I suddenly thought, oh my, I am the old generation now. And I felt and acted odd about it for awhile, that’s for sure.
Great advice! This also translates well for people who have lost someone other than a parent.