Have you ever wondered what to say to, or how to react toward, a grieving person? Out of fear or confusion, have you ever avoided or wanted to avoid a grieving person?
Nine years after my Mom’s death, I’ve got plenty of opinions about what to say. Please join tonight's discussion: what, if anything, is helpful to hear when you're grieving?
A special welcome to anyone who is new to The Grieving Room. We meet every Monday evening. Whether your loss is recent or many years ago, whether you have lost a person or a pet, or even if the person you are "mourning" is still alive ("pre-grief" can be a very lonely and confusing time) you can come to this diary and process your grieving in whatever way works for you. Share whatever you need to share. We can't solve each other's problems, but we can be a sounding board and a place of connection.
Grieving people often feel terribly alone. They feel isolated by the fact that they have lost someone irreplaceable. How can I live, they wonder, in this person’s absence? Can I ever be happy again? The lives of grieving people are different than they were before; so different, in fact, that they don’t yet recognize how grieving and living can coexist. Their identities are in flux. They are trapped in the space "between no longer and not yet."
Kind reader, this is not something we can fix or change. And yet there are some really important things we can do to help.
Most importantly, I think, grieving people need to hear the name. They need to say the name of their lost loved one – over and over and over – and they want to hear you say it. Speech is healing; to speak of something is to acknowledge its existence. The grieving person wants to know you haven’t forgotten the person who has died; they want to know you’ll never forget. They want to know that the name will live forever, and it feels so good to say it.
Go ahead: say the name. And when you do, watch the grieving person closely.
The eyes may water -- tears may even come in torrents. Do not let this dissuade you from speaking the name. You’ve done nothing wrong . . . you haven’t "reminded" them of the death. Can you believe that they’d forget? Can you believe that everything will be okay if only the name isn’t spoken? Do you really believe that you will make things worse by asking, by caring, by invoking the name?
Look beneath the tears. You will see the recognition, the relief, and the inexplicable joy found in hearing the person’s name. The name is a balm. As long as the name lives, so does the person.
Diane was my mother’s name, but she had several nicknames. My father called her "Di." My brother and I called her "Ann" or "Anna." As kids my brother and I would sing out: "Anna Banana!" (Of course, we also called her "Mom.") After she died, along with the realization of everything we’d lost, there was something inexpressibly sad about never again being able to call my mother and say her name.
Diane. Ruby. Joe. Alice. Evert. Don. Gary. Jim. Patrick. These are the names of my lost loved ones.
Say your own names tonight, in this safe space, if it feels right to you.
On this crisp October evening, amidst the pumpkins and maple leaves she loved, I’m missing Anna.
UPDATE at 10:12 p.m. EST: I can't begin to thank you for sharing your names, your memories, and your wisdom here. I'm humbled by everything I've read tonight. I'll need to turn to other tasks now, but promise to read every comment and reply ASAP. Good night, all, and warm wishes.
A link to all previous Grieving Room diaries:
http://www.dailykos.com/...