Don't Know What to Say to Somone Who is Grieving?

Someone you know is bereft, and you have a problem

You run into a neighbor at the grocery store. It’s the first time you’ve seen her since you heard her husband died. She’s not someone you know well — you haven’t lived in the neighborhood very long. You’ve had a few chats with her as she walked her dog past your yard, sometimes with her husband. She was always smiling, always pleasant. You meant to ask them both over for a glass of wine on the patio before the weather gets too cold.

Now it’s too late for that. You’re surprised to see her, alone. It’s only been a few days. But there she is, in the dairy aisle, pondering yogurt containers. And there you are, and she glances up at you and you see the recognition in her eyes, and now there you both are. If you had a momentary notion of respecting her privacy in what people call This Difficult Time, that option just evaporated. The corners of her mouth are already turning upwards in a shadow of a smile; you can’t tell if it’s a protective mask or if it’s meant as a welcome. But you have to say something.

What now? It’s not that you don’t care. It’s just that you weren’t prepared for this.

The truth is, nobody ever is

With the possible exception of chaplains and hospice professionals, we are all made awkward and puny when faced with death — and especially its most heartrending by-products, the bereaved. What words can you summon off the cuff that could be helpful or comforting? You were just here to pick up some eggs.

Here’s the thing: it’s natural to feel uncomfortable. If you’ve never lost someone close to you, you can only imagine what your neighbor is going through (what must it be like, you wonder distantly, to be suddenly shopping for one?). And if you have, it’s a jolt to be brought back to that scary, bewildering place. Nobody knocks us out of our comfort zone like the Grim Reaper. As someone who has dealt with sudden, life-upending loss, I can attest to that.

When my husband died suddenly at the age of 54, some of the responses I got from people truly did communicate comfort and support. Others, however, ranged from intrusive to just plain weird. Those are the responses you want to avoid.

Take a breath. You have just one job now: to acknowledge the death.

Some people hesitate to do this because they don’t want to remind the person of their loss. Trust me, your neighbor hasn’t forgotten. It’s the two-ton elephant, not in the middle of the room, but stuffed into a backpack she has strapped to her chest every single moment. If her loss is recent — especially if it was sudden —everything she does, including reading yogurt labels, is done under that crushing weight. She needs you to not pretend the elephant isn’t there.

How you do that is very simple, but by no means easy

There is no perfect way to comfort the grieving. This is not a situation you can fix or improve with advice, so don’t try. But keep a few things in mind.

Whatever words you choose, the number one principle is to not make it about you. Being human, this is easier said than done. You feel helpless, stymied, sad, nervous, maybe even afraid. The temptation is to try to make yourself feel better by making her feel better. Alas, that’s not in your power either. So avoid displays of emotion that are larger than what she is currently presenting. It might take everything she’s got to keep it together in the grocery store; it doesn’t serve her well if you carry on about your own upset at the news.

Shortly after my husband died, I ran into an acquaintance at a work event who asked me, with a sepulchral fall of the voice, “How are you doing?”

This was hardly the place to fall apart. When I replied, lamely, “I’m okay,” she gave me a sad little nod. I got the feeling I’d disappointed her somehow.

“Well, you’re in shock now. It’ll hit you later,” she said, before giving my arm a squeeze and moving off to mingle with other colleagues.

Dear God, I thought. It gets worse?

Don’t sap the grieving person’s energy

This is not the same as leaving them the hell alone — that only makes them feel abandoned and even more bereft. But don’t let your discomfort with death cause you to make demands on the bereaved person. That sounds obvious, but such demands often show up disguised as questions.

I got this a lot when I had to take over the family business in the wake of my husband’s demise. Customers would come in, ask to speak to him, hear the bad news, process their shock out loud (“He looked so healthy!”), and then start in with the questions. How old was he? Did he have high cholesterol? How was his blood pressure? Does heart disease run in the family? Say, what happened to his vintage cars? Do you still drive them? Why not?

I quickly grew to resent these interrogations. Yes, the customer was understandably knocked for a loop to find out my husband had died so abruptly and in the prime of life. But the questions wore me out at a time when my reserves were at an all-time low. I didn’t see why it should be my job to make other people feel better about the devastation in my and my family’s life.

Keep the questions to a minimum, and make sure they’re absolutely necessary. Ultimately, it’s not important that you know why or how your neighbor’s husband died. Everybody dies, one way or another. All that’s important right now is that your neighbor is reeling from the loss.

Only offer help if you mean it and can deliver on it

It’s natural to want to relieve your feelings of helplessness at such a moment by asking if there is anything you can do for your neighbor. Here’s the problem with that: your neighbor has zero bandwidth to think of what that “anything” might be. It’s taking her every available brain cell to pick out yogurt, so don’t ask her to come up with a list of errands you can run for her.

If you can offer something specific — something you know you have the time and resources to do at a particular time — then, great. Chances are it’ll be very much appreciated. “The kids and I can come over and rake those leaves for you on Saturday at noon, how about that?” for instance. If your offer is rebuffed, don’t take it personally. Smile.

People dealing with a recent death often have a hard time eating, let alone cooking, and very often in the immediate aftermath, they have lots of people showing up at the house. One of the nicest things people did for me in that time was to show up with food, already prepared, in a container that didn’t have to be returned, with no questions later about how it tasted or who liked it. Put a casserole or a disposable platter of fried chicken on the front porch and ring the bell. It may get eaten or not, but the gesture is tangible, life-affirming, and unlikely to go wrong (as long as you keep hot things hot and cold things cold).

If none of those things are realistic for you, then don’t offer. You can, if you genuinely mean it, say, “Hey, here’s my number; if you want to come over and talk or need some company, just say the word.”

I’m sure you mean well, but please refrain from offering Bible verses, pearls of wisdom from Buddha, or aphorisms (“God never gives us more than we can handle”). Remember, it is not your place to fix the situation for her. Death is humbling. Go with that.

So what can you say?

Something simple, sincere, and short. To your neighbor in the dairy aisle you might say, “Oh, Eleanor, I heard about Henry’s passing. I am so sorry.” And then, and I know this is hard, leave it at that. Follow her lead. If she wants to talk, listen. If she doesn’t, it’s fine to say, “I’m right across the street if you need anything or want to talk,” and then move on and finish your shopping. If there’s an opening in which you can offer help as mentioned above, then great — but don’t force it. Remember, this is about her, not you.

One of the nicest things said to me was from a friend: “There are no words. I love you.” When I was feeling the worst I’d ever felt, those words felt good to hear.

If you can say something like that, great. If you struggle, remember that you’re human and this is hard, and cut yourself some slack. Get your groceries or whatever, go home, pour yourself something cheering, and hug whoever you live with.

Death, like life, unites us all.