“It’s nice to see you hopeful again. You were a Debbie Downer on us there for a few months, but we still love you.” A comment by a good, well-meaning friend of mine. He was simply trying to let me know he was happy for me. He doesn’t know it hurt. He certainly didn’t mean for it to hurt. I know his heart too well to think he would intentionally hurt me. In this case, it was the intention that counts rather than the thought, and the intention means a lot to me despite the sting of hurt in my heart. I understand, too, that he likely hasn’t experienced grief like this. And that makes a difference in how he views mine.
As my friend walked away, I thought about how I shouldn’t have to explain to someone that I’m sad because I’m grieving. I shouldn’t have to explain that I’m grieving more than just the fact that my father is gone. I’m grieving how I lost him. I shouldn’t need to explain that I can still hear his screams in my head. That I can see the drops of blood splattered on the floor despite the nurses’ best efforts to clean it up after a procedure done in his hospital room. That I could still draw the pattern of agonal breathing on a vital signs monitor. Agonal breathing. The final stage of the death process. I shouldn’t have to explain that I will forever remember watching his final heart attack on the monitor, grateful that I didn’t see any pain registering on his face. That I watched his heart flat line. And in that one second, my life changed. I changed. And I knew it. I felt it.
I thought about how it should be enough to know I had experienced loss. And that the loss makes me sad. As a Christian, I do not mourn as others do for I have the hope that my father is with my loving Savior, and I will see him again some day. I have the hope that Christ will one day wipe my tears away. Having that hope, though, doesn’t mean I don’t feel the pain. My tears have not yet been wiped away. And so I cry. I get quiet. I sometimes panic when something triggers a flashback to the final days in the hospital. And I find that smiling for too long can get exhausting at times. And I want people to understand.
Well, part of me wants them to understand. I want that so I can avoid those well-meaning comments that make me feel guilty for grieving. Embarrassed even. But then the other part of me would rather bear with the comments. Because for someone to understand means that they have experienced the loss of a loved one and I don’t want that for them. So I’m hear to provide some advice for those who have not experienced loss.
Do you have a friend or loved one who is grieving? And are you unsure of how to help him/her? Let me give you a glimpse into how they’re feeling and how you can help.
First, they want to know they can be sad when they are around you. They don’t want to feel like they need to pretend they’re okay. To pretend that their world didn’t change drastically in ways they haven’t even fully grasped yet. They don’t want to have to put on a show.
Second, they want someone to listen. If they feel the need to talk about a memory for the hundredth time, they want to know you’ll listen without making them feel silly for bringing it up again. Sometimes it’ll be a good memory. Something that makes them happy. Like the memory I have of walking through a field of sunflowers in Colorado with my father. Sunflowers are my favorite flower because of that day. And because that is the last special memorable moment I have from before cancer entered our reality. He was first diagnosed two months after we walked through that field.
For those who experienced a more traumatic loss, there will be times the memories are hard. Painful. Something they’re still trying to process. Make sure they don’t focus only on those bad memories, but let them discuss them. Let them continue trying to process everything that happened. Those moments have contributed in shaping them into the person they are today.
Third, they appreciate it when you try to make them smile and laugh. I do, at least. It feels good to laugh and smile. I don’t always want to cry. Thankfully, I have a friend in my church family whom I can always count on to make me laugh when I need it, and it means quite a bit to me.
Fourth, sometimes they just want someone to sit with them. Maybe just watch a movie. Watch a sunset. Watch five episodes of a favorite show on Netflix. Not saying much. Just spending time together.
Finally, check in with them every once in a while with a short encouraging message. It doesn’t have to be something deep. Maybe it’s a verse you read that morning in your devotions and found encouraging. Maybe it’s just a “hello, I prayed for you today.” Just remind them that you’re there. Remind them of God’s love and faithfulness. They know deep down that He is faithful and loves them but that knowledge can sometimes be overwhelmed by the feeling of pain in their heart. And let them know that you’re okay with their being sad. That they’re not a Debbie Downer. After all, there is “a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.” (Ecclesiastes 3:4) And right now, they’re weeping and mourning.
“But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep. For this we declare to you by a word from the Lord, that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself will descend from heaven with a cry of command, with the voice of an archangel, and with the sound of the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we will always be with the Lord. Therefore encourage one another with these words.” - 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18
“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away." - Revelation 21:4