Tips for talking to grievers

I didn't think much about death before Sandy died. I saw it through the prism of emergency preparedness, and Sandy and I both talked many times about how we'd ensure that each other and the cats and our families were taken care of should one or both of us die. We also talked a great deal about what would happen with our bodies, and about the unwieldy costs of funeral homes. We nearly joined the People's Memorial Association, a nonprofit funeral home for folks wanting simpler burial and cremation options. (I may still join, but I'm tempted just to donate my body to science, as Sandy did.)

We tend to think about death just long enough to attend a
memorial, whether it's a traditional funeral or bowling in
Sandy's Uncle Gerald's memory. And then our thoughts of
death fade again until the next crisis strikes (pun intended).

But for the most part, death was the tragic punctuation in a movie or book; the sad statistics produced by a hurricane, tsunami, or mass shooting; or the absence of a relative I'd never been privileged to see that often. It wasn't an integrated part of life for me, and it isn't for many of us. It scares us. Like most people, I avoided it until it chased me down and stared me in the face. While Sandy was dying and after she died, death became my focus. Specifically Sandy's death, but death in general, too. The sharpness of it: here/not here. The injustice. The inevitability.

I've talked about death, dying, and grief frequently for thirteen months now. But I've been struck by just how abnormal that is. There is a loose, ill-defined movement of sorts to bring the topic of death back into the mainstream, to remove some of the fear and the mystery where possible, and to honor the fear and mystery where it remains. I've been encouraged every time I encounter someone willing to seriously engage in conversation about death, whether it be about the dying process, what comes after, or how the survivors cope.

One informative and entertaining resource is "Ask a Mortician," a series of episodes on YouTube in which an actual mortician answers people's questions factually and plainly. She's irreverent but respectful, and her answers are incredibly accessible.

In the episode I most recently saw, someone asked how to interact with a woman grieving after a miscarriage or a stillborn birth. Her answers are spot on, and they're appropriate, I think for interacting with any grievers. So I thought I'd share it here. (I've linked it because I had difficulty embedding it.)

Ask a Mortician - Grief

I encourage you to watch the video, but here's the main point I wanted to share from it. There are three things that are always appropriate to say:

I'm so sorry.  You are. It's true and genuine. It's a sincere connection and I can't think of any way it could offend.

I have no idea how you feel. Even if you've experienced something that seems to be the same, grief is intensely personal, and the truth is that no one can know how another is feeling.

How are you doing? If they don't want to talk, they can say something simple like "I'm holding up" and move on. If they want to talk, you've opened a door to let them express themselves. And if they need something, you've provided a way for them to ask for it.


---- Stray cat project update: We've had our first success. After a few failed attempts, I finally managed to get smelly food (a can that included tuna) within ten feet of the cat before it bolted, and when I then retreated about fifteen feet, the kitty approached the food dish and chowed down. Now to slowly decrease the distance between me and the eating cat, build trust, etc!