An Open Letter To Those Helping Me Grieve

“If you simply cannot understand why someone is grieving so much, for so long, then consider yourself fortunate.”

DR. JOANNE CACCIATORE

Grief isn’t a one-size-fits-all type of thing. We all experience it differently. And we all experience it differently at different times. The way we experience grief is kind of like skydiving. Only the person who actually jumps out of the plane truly understands exactly how it feels.

Personally, I’ve never gone skydiving. I can imagine what it might feel like, but my guess is, that in reality, it would be much more intense than I could ever imagine. And of the millions of people that have gone skydiving, each one of them individually experienced it in their own way—just like grief.

For me, at first, my grief felt like someone had ripped my heart out of my chest. Everything familiar was now a bit off—or foreign. The loss of my husband felt palpable. It was a sadness so intense I could feel it. It was Heavy. It hurt.

It has been just over one year now and my grief feels as if my heart is tethered to something away from my body. I feel like this is how I will probably feel forever now. I don’t feel like this all the time. But when he pops into my brain, or I see or hear something that reminds me of him, that tether reins my heart. Sometimes it catches me off-guard; sometimes I see it coming. Sometimes it is fleeting; sometimes paralyzing. Sometimes the grief is gentle and sometimes it explodes like a shockwave.

I feel like a lot of people are super supportive at first. The person grieving is encompassed in love and hugs and casseroles. It feels as if “I can get through this!” But a few weeks later most of that wains. Life resumes for those around you while you are still walking around in slo-mo—in the thick of grief.

I started writing this about six months ago and added to it as I grieved. Although I feel I am doing well now with my grief, I hope this helps others who are wondering how to help someone they love… to grieve.

An Open Letter to Those Helping Me Grieve:

Grief isn’t something that “gets easier with time.” It’s not something we eventually “snap out” of. We just learn to deal with our grief in a different way. We learn to cope and manage our feelings. We learn to incorporate our grief into our life. Grief may feel less sharp over time, but it’s still there—just a bit softer. And just as we all grieve differently, we all heal differently.

Sometimes you might not know what to say to me. And that’s okay. People are generally all-in in the beginning. Their hearts are a bit tethered as well. They want to be there for those in pain. Our bonds with the departed are different. As time goes on, remember I am still tethered—even though you are not. And remember, that is quite normal.

Keep in mind I don’t need endless coddling. I don’t want to be felt sorry for when I reminisce or talk about my loved one. What I would love is for you to meet me for coffee and do the normal stuff with me. And please don’t ever feel like speaking of my loss will throw me into a pit of despair. Yes, I might get a bit sad, but I also love to hear stories and memories from others about my loved one. And I LOVE that you are thinking of and remembering them as well.

Thank you for remembering significant dates like his birthday or death day. It’s nice to know he’s in someone’s heart. I love hearing that you remember!

There are times when I might seem like I’m being unsociable or frazzled. I’m probably just in a temporary funk but when you reach out to me I know you are there for me. I know who I can call or unload on because you are a constant. It’s nice to get a call or a text asking, “How are you feeling?” It means more than you know. Please reach out regularly—even if I don’t always reach back.

Sometimes I might want to get out and go somewhere, and sometimes I might need space. Sometimes I might be having mood swings. It’s only me trying to work through my thoughts—it’s nothing against you. Check-in on me a little bit later.

Listen, really listen, to me. Sometimes I don’t really want or need advice. Please don’t say things like, “He/she is in a better place,” (a better place than where? here with me?) or “God needed them more,” or “At least he is no longer suffering.” None of those remarks are at all helpful.

Sometimes I just need to cry, or sob, or be angry, or sad—and just have someone listen. I need to figure things out by myself but it’s nice to have you with me—listening. And if I don’t seem to be in the mood to talk? Just let me know you will be there when I am ready.

If you see that I am in great despair and you feel that it’s more than you can help me with, don’t be afraid to suggest professional counseling. Grief is hard. It’s complicated. Sometimes people need a little extra guidance and that will make a big difference for them.

Thank you for your help with random things in my everyday life that I may have never had to handle prior to my loss. Sometimes it’s not easy asking for help so it is greatly appreciated when you offer. It is very disappointing when someone offers help and doesn’t follow through. That hinders my confidence in reaching out when I really need a hand.

Ask me about my person who died. I know you might worry you’ll remind me and make me sad. And it might for a bit.
But, when you ask
My heart feels full
And happy
And Loved.
And their spirit is remembered.
And all of us smile.
—SHEILA BURKE

If you have any advice you would like to share, please do so in the comments. Thank you.