the more joy you can contain."
-- Kahlil Gibran, "The Prophet" --
First, one must clearly understand and identify grief. Grief to me is any time someone is dealing with something gone "wrong" in their life. It could be the death of a friend or relative. It could be a breakup. It could be an unexpected pregnancy. Or a car accident. Or a large debt. Or a social faux-pas. Or an argument with a friend or lover. Or quitting smoking. Or spilling milk when you take the cartoon from the fridge. Grief, to me, is any time something is "wrong". I put that in quotes, because most often, acceptance of these situations lies in the realization that nothing is "wrong". It's simply life. We cope. We move on.
I see grief in the simple 3-stage way, not the more complex 7-stage one. In the 3-stage view, grief can be seen as:
a. shock (disbelieving)
b. disorganization (confused)
c. re-organization (moving on)
It's not always necessarily in order. You lapse from the latter stages back into the earlier ones, often when some little thing sets you off. One day you are moving along, seemingly after putting everything behind you, and some little thing reminds you of the past, and suddenly, BAM!, and you're back into shock again.
Anyway, with this in mind, and without further delay:
-- How to Console a Grieving Person --
(or at least a grieving Pat)
1. Don't say the typical customary statements.
It's like a bad sales routine. One person after the other gives you the same old pitch, and you didn't believe it the first time. Shortly after my mother died, it got to the point where I thought if one more person said either "my condolences" or "sorry to hear about your loss" or "sorry to hear about your mom" I figured I'd finally lose it and starting throwing flurries of punches.
Let me be very clear about this: No, there really is no right thing to say. Nothing that you can say can make the pain go away. Nothing you can say can really speed the process of healing. A moment's spark, a moment's hope, a moment's relief. These are the best you can hope for. "Healing" is simply a matter of time. Your words are seldom medicine, and when they are, they treat the symptoms, not the cause. The grieving mind simply needs to sort out a hell of a lot of shit inside it, and there is nothing that anyone can say or do that will speed that along.
Why say anything then? Or why distinguish what you do say? Because in the realm of wrong or neutral things to do or say, some things are far more wrong than others. And for me, that unoriginal, repetitious, "my condolences on your loss" shit ranks right up there as worst case scenario. If you truly are sorry to hear about it, then tell me so, but do pay me the respect of doing it in your own words, not the same ones someone else used just five minutes earlier, because otherwise it just lacks credibility.
Very-Wrong: "My condolences on your loss. If there's anything I can do, just let me know."
Not-As-Wrong: "Listen, I just heard what happened from Joe-Billy-Bob-Sue and I know you must be going through a really hard time right now. If you're not busy later, give me a call and we can go out for a coffee or a movie or something."
2. Never tell anyone you "know just how they feel".
No one ever knows exactly how someone else feels. Ever. To say otherwise is simply a lie. Just because my mother died doesn't mean I know exactly how it feels for everyone losing a mother. My relationship with my mother may have been very different than theirs, just for starters. To say I have some idea how they feel is true. When you tell someone you've been through a similar experience, and therefore appreciate and sympathize, yes, that helps. Very much sometimes. But if you try to tell someone in deep grief you know "exactly" how they feel, that you can empathize... get ready to duck.
Very-Wrong: "I lost my Object-of-Grief a few years ago myself. I know exactly what you are going through."
Not-As-Wrong: "A few years ago I lost my Object-of-Grief. I won't say I know what you are going through, because it is different for everyone, but I know it was a really hard time for me, and that it must be a really difficult time for you too. If you need someone to talk to about it..."
3. Don't Play Devil's Advocate
Even if you are in disagreement with their decision, and even if you think you know what's best, if you want to protect your friendship with this person in the long run, you'll not attack them at their weakest moment, when they are most in doubt of themselves and their decisions, by questioning those decisions. If you are really concerned that they are doing something wrong, if your argument actually has true merit, let it stand against them when they are at their strongest. Kicking a friend when they are down is a cowardly betrayal.
Old Taoist saying: When you push something, it moves away from you. Think about that.
And be warned of this as well, it is easy to do this without even meaning. In the disorganized (confusion) stage of grief, there are many questions they must resolve in their mind. If you choose to reiterate those questions for them, pushing those painful dilemmas at them faster, it could be just as bad as a full-out assault against their failing ego. Saying "Did you get a chance to say a proper good-bye?" to someone whose is grieving the death of a friend will seldom meet with an answer of "Oh yes, we squared everything away 100%. There was absolutely nothing left for us to say." How often is someone satisfied that the death of someone around them was timely? All it does instead is drive home the wedge of doubt in their mind that is eating away at them as they're already asking it of themselves. Your questioning it puts them one step closer to telling themselves "no", because your doubt reaffirms theirs. How different is that from saying "So, didn't get a chance to say a proper good-bye, did ya? Bet that sucks, huh? Shoulda said something while you had the chance, putz!"? In fact, the only difference is that they'll consider the former a simple blunder on your part and say nothing of it, but reel, wounded, in silence. Is this what you want?
Be cautious what you ask.
4. Avoid Making Promises or Giving Advice
Think about this: If they take your advice and it's wrong, you've let them down when they most needed you and chose to rely on you. They'll end up resenting you for it. If your advice is right and they take it, the next time trouble strikes they'll be knocking on your door. And the day you are wrong or don't have any advice, when your font of wisdom has run dry, then the resentment and bitterness will come, because they couldn't rely on you when they needed you most (recently).
Ever consoled a friend on a breakup and told them that the other person was an asshole anyway who didn't deserve them only to discover they were back together a week later? Made your relationship with them both a little tricky after that, didn't it?
Don't. Don't. Don't. Don't. Well Pat, you keep saying don't do this and don't do that, but what the hell should we do then?
5. Just Be There
If life is like sailing an ocean, then every little change that comes our way is like a small wave: it rocks your boat gently, pushing it in a direction. Sometimes it helps, because it pushes your little boat in the direction you want to go. Sometimes it makes things more difficult, because it pushes against you, perhaps setting you a little off course. Sometimes, it is so small it just laps against the side and makes no difference at all.
The kind of grief that comes from tragedy is like a storm at sea, and it may capsize you or send you spinning. You are no longer certain what direction you are going in or even want to go in. You feel as though rowing is useless. It seems so futile, you may even think it easier to let yourself drown.
So I've fallen out of the boat in the middle of the storm and I'm panicking. The question is, what are you going to do?
Recite swimming instructions out of a book to me, the same ones I've heard a thousand times before? I'm drowning here, and you're not helping.
Tell me you know just how I feel because you almost drowned once? I'm drowning here, and you're not helping.
Lecture me on the fact that I should have been wearing a life jacket, or turned the sail the other way? I'm drowning here, and you're not helping.
Promise things will be better once I'm back in the boat? Or give me advice for how to avoid falling out in the future? I'm drowning here, and you're not helping.
So what should you do? Be there. Be my rock.
It's not because I might need a shoulder to cry on. It's not because you think I might want someone to talk to. It's not because I'll need someone to bounce ideas off of. It's not to distract me from my problems, or help me find solutions. Those things are all important, but they are not the real reason you are needed.
Life is chaos. There is always change. The sea is never silent. But when the big wave hits, you need something solid to hold on to. You need something, even just one thing, to be constant. Something that doesn't need to be questioned. Something so solid its mere existence provides solace. There must be something, just one simple thing, that amongst all the change, the winds, the rain, the spinning boat, there must be one thing you can rely on. There must be one foundation where a foothold can be found. One unmoving reference point from which you can take a bearing.
Be a rock.
The easy part is, rocks don't actually do much. They just sit, in silence, demonstrating a certain solidity, or, from another point of view: "a complete absence of change". The unchanging friend is the Yang-rock to the Yin-storm in progress.
But the hard part is, rocks don't actually do much. For all you want to help, you probably can't. You must be patient. You must be very patient. You need to understand that a drowning man will climb you like a ladder if you're in the water with them. You may receive harsh undeserved words in outbursts, or requests for answers you don't have or shouldn't give. You will feel helpless. You want to help, to somehow push them back into the boat. But rocks don't push. Rocks can't push. Rocks just sit, and let themselves be a stepping stone. But in doing so, in being that stepping stone, in representing that solidity amongst change, in being something that doesn't need to be worried about, that rock provides exactly the service that is needed.
When the grief-stricken mind is in shock, it needs to see that not everything has changed.
When the grief-stricken mind is in a state of confusion, it needs to see that some things need not be questioned or worried about.
When the grief-stricken mind is moving on, it needs a solid starting point as reference.
-- Be a rock. --
(or at least be Pat's rock)
It is important to realize that when the more grief-stricken someone is, the harder it is for them to think coherently or care much about anything. To the confused-state grief-stricken mind in particular, it is almost inpossible to focus on anything other than the problem. And it is almost impossible to feel anything other than pain or nothing. You don't want to be a part of the pain. You must be prepared to be a part of the nothing.
I got some really great work done today on a new installation for our software. I didn't get it done because I was in good-spirits, or because I felt it important. In fact, I probably couldn't have given less of a shit about it at all. I got it done only because it was a welcome distraction when the alternative was to sit around hurting. Given the choice between pain and nothing, for a little while, I was able to focus on the nothing, just to take a break from the pain.
