Advice for Friends and Family of Grievers

First of all, I’d like to thank you all for the overwhelming support regarding my post about our Cholangiocarcinoma journey. While it was an incredibly high level overview of the tumult we experienced last year, I hope it provided some insight to those wondering and some empathy for those who understand far too well. I haven’t written since then because, honestly, it took a lot of personal energy to pull that together and finding the time to write quality, heartfelt content is scarce right now.

It has been six months since Matt left this world. I alluded to this in a recent post, but it feels as though I’ve lived three different lives in a matter of two years: young pregnant lady; cancer wife/new mom, and widow with a one year old. All of which were transitions from my former state of being one half of a young, professional couple leading a relatively care-free life. Remnants of my past life exist; but in all reality, I’ve become a different person through all my experiences. It’s really an awkward state to be in; scary and awkward. I know my entrance into different phases will each carry their own elements of renewal; with hope and with baggage. I suppose that’s life though?

It’s finally setting in that Matt is not coming back; and that’s terrifying. I mean, I’ve “known” that, but it feels progressively more real. I am now a single mom of a baby boy and I have to learn to do this all by myself. Bryson had his first virus a couple of weeks ago; it really hit hard then. Matt would have been there to talk me through my crazy and take some of the load off. It really, really sucked, for lack of a better term. Since then, things have ebbed and flowed. Some days I feel on top of the world, and other days I’m just trying to remember if I ate food. Often, I’ll go through my phone with Bryson showing him pictures of relatives, friends, and, of course, “dada.” The other day, I stumbled on a video. Typically, I pass over the videos because the thought of hearing Matt’s voice feels so overwhelming; but this time, I listened. And I cried. Luckily, my 17-month old will have little recollection of these tears and emotional breakdowns. He once poked my eye out and grabbed my nose during one of my crying sessions. That was fun. I prefer Charlie’s comforting licks.

After watching the video, though, an odd sense of happiness came over me. Just by hearing his voice, I realize that my fear of forgetting bits and pieces will never happen. I have so many recorded memories, both in memory and physically through photos and videos. It will never replace having Matt here; so before anyone alludes to that, or mentions “how lucky we are to have these”… please don’t. I am happy we have these tangible memories; and Bryson will have access to really seeing and hearing his dad. It’s a shame we need to rely on them.

As Matt’s passing becomes more real, and more distant for many, I want to take this opportunity to address a topic I’ve passively avoided out of fear of offending people. However, if widowhood has brought me anything, it’s a large sense of IDGAF (google it for those who don’t know the acronym). Full transparency, prior to experiencing the diagnosis and loss of Matt, I, too, had a hard time figuring out the right things to do or say to people who are grieving a really traumatic loss. Even if I was also grieving…because I do believe there are rings of grief . Until you’ve been at the epicenter of a tragic loss, it’s difficult to understand. I reached out to my social media channels and asked fellow grievers for the advice they wish they could have given friends and family members prior to loss. I’ve broken it down into:

What do I say?
What do I do?
What should I avoid saying?
What should I avoid doing?

I’ve crafted this post not to call people out, but to help people see things from the grievers point of view. It’s 100% not your fault that you don’t know how to handle very delicate, highly volatile situations like grief. There is no textbook on the right thing to say or do; it’s important to note that every person grieves differently, which is why I wanted to create a collective post based not only on my own experience and opinions, but that of others. I hope you find this helpful. In order to protect the privacy of my contributors, I haven’t mentioned names unless someone has requested to be cited or directed me to a post they may have created.

So, let’s start with the most popular category…

WHAT NOT TO SAY

“I’m sorry for your loss.”: So generic, I know. We’ve all been trained by society that this is the appropriate thing to say to a person, as you progress through a stuffy funeral line, offering your condolences. Personally, I have always felt so awkward saying it; and oftentimes, super awkward hearing it. This transcends the threshold of hurtful if you are a close friend or family member. It makes it seem as though that person meant little to you. I’ve alluded to this before and honestly, whenever I hear it, I think “I’m sorry for YOUR loss. I’m sorry for the world’s loss of a great human.” Please don’t minimize the life of someone as if they only impacted one person. My fellow widower, and amazing podact maven, Mel, echoed my sentiments saying “I think each loss is a loss for the world, and for some reason I feel like it comes across ‘so sorry for your loss, but it’s not mine so I’m fine.’” Is there a way we can just expunge that phrase from death etiquette?

“At least…”: Woof. This tops my worst things to say list. “At least he’s not suffering anymore.” “At least you have Bryson.” “At least you have wonderful memories.” If you catch yourself starting a statement with “at least…” immediately halt. If you feel personal comfort in saying that to OTHER people outside the griever, go at it. “Well Sally, at least Christina still has her son.” Whatever. If I don’t hear it, I don’t care. There is no “at least” when it comes to losing an essential figure in your life. I had a friend who, well intentioned, said to me following Matt’s diagnosis “ If things go bad, at least you have Bryson.” It was not comforting. It felt, quite uncomfortably, wrong. It also felt like I was forced in this position of acceptance and false gratitude. I love my son, but he didn’t replace my husband. Am I grateful that I have Bryson and a piece of Matt with me? Of course. But in no way, shape or form does it make the pain of Matt’s loss any less OR serve as a substitute for my husband. I lost my best friend of ten years, my love, and the father of my child. On top of that, I will one day have to explain to Bryson all of this. There are no “at leasts” that exist in the eyes of a griever.

“The Universe/God doesn’t give you more than you can handle”: No one really said this to me, but a fellow widow has been subject to this statement multiple times. It is clearly spoken by someone who has never experienced the loss of someone at the core of their own universe. Perhaps the Universe/God clearly overestimated our capabilities as a human to deal with something so inherently wrong and tragic.

As she explains, “The universe can take a little back thank you very much. I also hate “he’s in a better place”. I get the sentiment, but I think here with his family would have been a better place for another 40 years.” I can attest, without speculation, Matt would have much rather stayed here with us, interacting with his son and growing his family, like the normal trajectory

“Time heals all wounds” and “Things will get better” A very close friend of mine who lost her brother explains, “It doesn’t get easier with time, but the weight feels lighter as time passes. That’s not to say it’s not with you every day, but you can learn to cope and grieve simultaneously.” In regards to things getting better, perhaps things will feel lighter one day and you will be happy again. But in those initial moments of grief, it is incomprehensible. We don’t want things to get better; we want our loved ones back. The old jargon does not ring true in those waking moments of monumental loss.

“How are you doing with everything?” Asking this when you really aren’t prepared for the true answer is just annoying. A friend of mine who lost her parents, a few widows, and a person who lost their best friend all agreed….this is just a weird question and feels more like a space filler. Unless you’re actually inquiring and prepared to have a conversation about it, just don’t ask. This is a little tricky; I’ve had friends ask this sparingly and I think this is totally ok. They’re ready to really talk about things with me; and they don’t do it every day. If you’re asking just to fulfill some sense of obligation, or you do any sort of pity eyes or head tilt, please just spare us.

WHAT TO SAY

“Well, this sucks.” Across all my respondents, one thing was quite clear; we all just want people to acknowledge that there are no quick fixes or motivating words of encouragement. At the end of the day, if we can all just agree that this f’ing sucks, it’ll make things much less uncomfortable. I know that’s harsh language (sorry Dad), but it’s true. Sometimes there are no reasons; there are no explanations or words of encouragement. Call a spade a spade.

“Please know that I am here anytime you need a friend to talk to, vent with, or just need a laugh.” And really mean it. Not just when it’s convenient for you. Every person grieves differently; some do better in solitude, while others (like me) prefer human interaction. There is no right or wrong way to grieve; but as someone who is the supporter of a griever, you carry a responsibility of actually being there when the person needs you. I know that can feel laborious, but just imagine what that person is going through. Your call to action may not be immediate; it may be six months or a year down the road. It’s important for that person to know they have a support system ready to jump in when they are ready.

Just a hug. Sometimes, there are no words. Just a hug, a gesture of care, can speak more than a thousand words.

“There are no words that can possibly make sense right now. The world lost a great human, and this just isn’t right.” Or some rendition of that. Yes, we know that’s true, but hearing affirmation from others helps us feel like the loss of the person we love, whether a husband, wife, father, mother, fiance, sister, brother, best friend, etc, isn’t trivial or minute. Additionally, noting that you don’t understand, you don’t have words, and recognizing that is enough.

WHAT NOT TO DO

Flake. We all have a bit of flakiness in us; but when dealing with a person in grief, it is legit not the time to flake out. If you make plans, keep them. If you say that you’re there any time they need to talk, but don’t respond to phone calls or messages, then it can feel as though you no longer care. I know that’s easier said than done. We all have a lot going on in life. Trust me, I know. But it’s not time to take back a promise.If you feel like it’s not something you can live up to, that’s fine. But empty promises are just that. Empty.

Look for direction from said griever. So tough. We aren’t mind readers and it’s really difficult to sense what someone is comfortable receiving help with or what they need help with. As a widow, I can tell you that trying to come up with solutions to the “what can I do to help?” in the wake of loss is incredibly challenging. One of my fellow widows said it perfectly, “let me know what I can do for you… just offer to do something, dammit. I can’t think I have widow brain.” Yes. Widow brain is a real thing. So start with little things that you know they may need help with. It doesn’t have to be life altering. When I decided to move soon after Matt passed away, my brother in law emailed all of our friends to see if they could come over and help me move. I didn’t have to organize any of it, nor did I have to ask him to do it. Even in his own grief, he realized something I needed help with and also knew how terrible I am at asking for help. Be like Kris.

Compare losses. One of my fellow grievers brought this one up, and it’s so true. Our grieving experiences are not up for comparison. No one is looking for solace or affirmation that you know how they feel. In time, yes, you can share experiences and stories that may be similar and provide empathetic support. But every loss is different; every loss is painful. In that moment, there is no experience that can even equate to your level of pain because it is yours.

A friend of mine explains “I wish people know that saying they know how I feel because someone they know died too. They think they’re being helpful, but they are not. No one could possibly understand (speaking of the loss of both parents at the age of 14/15). Just like no one could possibly understand losing your husband within a year of diagnosis before your child turns one.” Every situation is different and it is impossible for anyone to truly understand your unique tragedy. Understand you do not understand.

On that same note, and this is specific to widows and/or children who have lost a parent, comparing being divorced or having divorced parents. Yes, it carries it’s own load, and I am in no way saying that it’s not mentally draining and painful, but it is 100% NOT the same the thing. A widower explains, “My personal bugbear is the clumsy ‘I know how you feel’ or ‘I know exactly how you feel’ type comments. Er, no you don’t. And wo betide them if they add ‘because I’m divorced’. No, no, no, no! Your divorce, acrimonious or otherwise, is not comparable to the loss of my wife. In any shape or form. I’m sorry that for whatever reasons your marriage / relationship didn’t work out for you but you’re trying to compare apples and oranges. You might not get along with your ex, but at least your kids have the possibility of getting to have some form of relationship with their other parent, even if it may be just every other weekend. My son doesn’t. Ever.”

Make assumptions about someone’s “strength” and comfort levels in discussing the tragedy. Sometimes, the people who appear the strongest or who appear the most “put together” are the ones who need the most support. Strength in and of itself is subjective. We’re strong because we survived; it’s not by choice. I alluded to this in my first grief myth busters post. That’s about it.

A fellow widow of mine recently pointed out how tough it was for her to hear “You’re so strong. I don’t know how you’re doing so well/keeping it together etc.” She further explains, “It makes me feel guilty, as if they’re thinking I didn’t love my husband enough to be sad 24/7 over his death. I’m not depressed, I’m working, and (gasp) I still laugh and smile on a regular basis. I usually just smile and say I know, but I have my moments. I really want to say “Well actually last night I was in a blubbering heap in our closet smelling his shirts” or “ I have a slight panic attack every time my phone rings because I think someone I love, died”. As an FYI: PTSD is a real thing after loss; I still freak out every time I have a pain or feel off; it may seem ridiculous, but when you’ve experienced ridiculous or rare, nothing seems far fetched.

Another griever noted that it really irked her when people would make assumptions about whether or not she wanted to discuss her loss. As she so frankly put it “How do you know I don’t want to talk about it?” Sometimes we DO want to talk about it; sometimes it’s the only way to get all of the anger, resentment, sadness, confusion, and complete torture out. Sometimes, talking through the loss also helps us positively cope. So yes, sometimes, we do want to talk about it.

Other times, we just want to laugh. We want to talk about funny things and watch comedies; we want to remember the moments of happiness and hilarity. For me, I love hearing stories about Matt; I was 100% comfortable with “remember the time” moments soon after he passed, as long as they didn’t involve the cancer year. Others aren’t ready to do that; it’s not how they grieve. That’s ok. Step back, listen, and take their lead when it comes to chatting about the loss.

WHAT TO DO

Find tangible, concrete ways to help. Freezer meals, house cleaning, taking out the trash, offering to watch children (if applicable). All of these things are super helpful for someone who’s trying to figure out how to balance life amidst the chaos of grief. This will obviously vary from person to person, but look for gaps and take some initiative. In an episode of “Widow We Do Now,” Anita, one of my fellow widows, mentioned how her neighbors dropped off a cooler full of drinks and snacks for her family (she has four children). It didn’t require her to engage in any small talk; they literally just did something kind. I had really amazing neighbors; when Matt was real sick and even after he passed, they would come over and shovel the driveway. I didn’t need to ask. They just did it. It was one of the sweetest gestures I’ve ever experienced.

Realize grief doesn’t go away. We still need you. The expectation that you move on from grief is false. You move forward with it, and that load can feel really heavy sometimes. I had a broad spectrum of grievers who reached out to me; people who have lost their parents (or parent-like figures); people who lost siblings; people who lost children; widows; people who miscarried; people who lost their best friends. One constant remains across all conversations…grief does not go away. It manifests differently over time; the day-to-day-load can feel less at times; but also punch you in the face at other times. You may move forward into a new chapter of your life, but it doesn’t mean the previous chapters don’t still impact you.

A friend of mine said this perfectly, “When I lost my mother, I wish people could have been more patient with me as my grieving process felt so complex and it impacted EVERY part of my life, and it still does, as I struggle thru this parenting process without my mom as a guide. The loss will sneak up on you Christina and sometimes it will slap you in the face.”

It’s important to not forget that there are times we still need you. Just like there will be times you need us. Don’t stop checking in; don’t stop showing up for scheduled dates; don’t let time trick you into believing all is well.

Our loved one is not taboo, so don’t treat them that way. Many of us discovered how helpful it was to share happy stories and moments regarding our loved ones; it keeps them very much alive for us and also affirms their impact. Another fellow widow of mine explained some of the things that felt helpful for her, “The best for me, personally, is when people admit they don’t know, that they can’t understand, and when they ask questions to try and understand/be more aware, and share memories of Dan. Ignoring his death completely (I get this a lot because I’m expecting soon, so people focus on the baby and not the sad stuff) and just giving the “sad eyes”, that just gets under my skin.” It’s ok to acknowledge sadness. I can resonate with her; Bryson was a week old when Matt was diagnosed and eleven months when he passed away. People would ask me about Bryson all the time and start conversations about him, ignoring the torment we were going through. I understand the sentiment here, but it kind of falls under that “at least…” category.

These grief pointers, are just that.

This is not all encompassing, of course. Grief is complex; knowing the right things to do or say can feel impossible. I hope this provides at least some sort of blueprint for you. Thank you to all those who contributed to my blog! I know it’s not easy talking about grief, and your contributions really helped shape this blog post. If you’re looking for more resources, I suggest checking out Melanie’s blog , the Widow We Do Now podcast (fun fact, I’m on episode 24!), The Hot Young Widows Club book, or This “How to Help the Widowed Young PDF.

A Matter of Hope

Of course, I can’t leave you without mentioning that our event is less than two months away!! We are so excited to offer the satellite/virtual Hubs option. For more info on how you can support us, please visit our website. All proceeds from our fundraising efforts will benefit the Cholangiocarcinoma Foundation in honor of Matt. We’ve set a goal to raise $8,140.85 in honor of Matt’s birthday and we are OVER half way there. How can you support us?

Donate by purchasing a ticket, and consider hosting/attending one of our A Matter of Hope hubs!
Buy Wine! Through our partnership with OneHope Wine, 35% of wine sales will go to the Cholangiocarcinoma Foundation. Additionally, you have the opportunity to support other causes and charities that need your help. We had an amazing virtual tasting last weekend. It was so much fun! If you’re intrigued, I can run a wine tasting party for you OR help you run your own tastings. Feel free to message me for details!
Buy a Tank Top or Tee Shirt! We just placed our second order for tank tops and tees, as our first order SOLD OUT. Feel free to message me to be on the pre-order list!
Share our message on social media. We’re currently doing a fun “Ten Days of Tank Tops” contest. Check out the A Matter of Hope Instagram for details. Give us a follow and share our message with your friends. This is a FREE way to support us!
Sponsor our Silent Auction. We’re in the process of populating our Silent Auction! If you’re a business owner or want to sponsor one of the items up for auction, shoot an email over to Alley at mohopebaltimore@gmail.com.

Scenes from our Virtual Wine Tasting. Cheers Matt!

Until next time,

Xtina