What can I do to help? I hear this question all the time. When you experience a death in your family, people want to help, to ease your pain, to be there for you in some small way. Henry’s death has shown me the goodness of people in a way I have never seen before. It seems like everywhere I turn; someone is reaching out.
I have always felt uncomfortable being around people who have lost a loved one. I never know what to say or do, and often that has meant that I have shied away from situations where I should have offered help. A few years ago, our neighbors lost their adult son. I didn’t go over to visit with them. I didn’t bring cookies or flowers. Since my neighbor had always told me how much my young children reminded her of her children when they were young, I didn’t bring the kids outside to play in the neighborhood park because I didn’t want to be insensitive. My motives were good, but my actions were not kind. I missed an opportunity to minister to the needs of someone who was hurting.
If you know someone who has lost a child or loved one here are three simple things you can do to help.
- Be Present
I learned about Henry’s death late in the evening, as I was about to go to bed. He was with my wife and our two other children in the US for a visit with the grandparents while I was back “home” overseas. By the time I had made the necessary calls to people in the US and booked a flight for the next day to join Sarah and the kids, it was around 3:00 in the morning. I took an Ambien and went to sleep. At 6:30 in the morning I woke up with someone standing beside my bed. It was a friend from work, standing there with tears in his eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Josh. I’m just so sorry” he said. I got up, wearing only my boxers, complete with bed head, a puffy face, runny nose, and terrible morning breath. He threw his arms around me and just held me. We cried together in a shared embrace. He stayed only for a moment and then left. A minute later, another friend walked in and did the same. Two minutes later, two more friends walked in and repeated the scene. At lunch that day, I was in my house when the doorbell rang. When I came to the door, a friend was standing there.
“I can leave if you don’t want to see anyone!” she blurted out.
“It’s okay.” I said. She came in and just sat with me at the kitchen table while I ate my lunch. Later that day I went into work and a parade of people came by my office to hug me and cry with me. When the amount of people became too great for my office, we went to a large conference room. They kept coming – people of all backgrounds, colors, creeds, religions, ages, and life stories – to share in my grief and to let me know they loved me. They loved me in action without being asked. We all sat together at the conference table and cried. Sometimes we spoke sometimes we were silent. It was a scene of shared humanity like I have never experienced before. It was so beautiful.
It’s strange, but even in silence, having them just sit with me was comforting. When you have a baby, you want to share your joy with others. When your baby dies, it’s the same. You want to share your grief, to know that you are not alone, and that people share in your loss. This need to be with others is something that transcends time and culture. Sitting in the conference room, I thought of Job, who after being struck by tragedy, was visited by his friends. In the story of Job, his friends sit with him in silence for seven days, just being there with him.
If you know someone who is in grief, go be with that person. Send a note. Send a card. Drop off cookies or food. Put pinwheels in the yard. Go to the house and put up encouraging notes or scripture. Take on errands and every day details to lighten the load of the grieving person. Give a hug or encouraging word. Do something so that the grieving person knows he or she is loved and not forgotten.
- Be Human
Grief is messy and unrefined. The night that I left to return to the US to join Sarah and the kids, I was lost in a blur. My suitcase was still packed from a business trip I had returned from two nights earlier. Some friends stopped by to help me as I packed. As I dug through my suitcase taking out my dirty clothes from the business trip and packing clean socks and underwear, they sat with me in the mess. I was at the lowest point in my life, broken and afraid. They joined me in that place and made sure I was okay.
“Do you need to bring an outfit with you to bury Henry?”
“Do you need to bring his social security card?
“Do you have your passport, wallet, and phone? Let’s make sure they are in your carry-on.”
I would normally never let people see me in such an undignified state, watching me as I paw through my suitcase. Grief breaks through the well-constructed images we create. It removes the mask and people see us as we really are – with blemishes, bad haircuts, and missing teeth. But the truth is that each of us is carrying the same thing in our suitcase. We all have pain and brokenness, secrets and shame. Grief only brings those things to the surface. Imagine what the world would look like if we allowed people to see our frail humanity. Imagine the richness and depth of relationship we would enjoy if we ministered to one another as we are rather than as we think we should be.
Since I have returned to work, people continue to come to my office and talk. They ask how I am and they cry with me. I have been surprised at the people who have come to see me. I have also been surprised by the people who have not.
There are those who go out of their way to avoid contact. If they must make contact they give a quick nod and carry on. Some pretend like it never happened. They pick up where we last left off as if my son had not died. We are excluded from events in which we previously would have been included. It’s as if we are contagious and grief might spread.
C.S. Lewis recounts this in his book A Grief Observed, the book he wrote following the death of his wife.
I cannot talk to the children about her. The moment I try, there appears on their faces neither grief, nor love, nor fear, nor pity, but the most fatal of all non-conductors, embarrassment. They look as if I were committing an indecency. They are longing for me to stop. I felt the same after my own mother’s death when my father mentioned her. I can’t blame them. It’s the way boys are.It isn’t only the boys either. An odd byproduct of my loss is that I’m aware of being an embarrassment to everyone I meet. At work, at the club, in the street, I see people, as they approach me, trying to make up their minds whether they’ll ‘say something about it’ or not. I hate it if they do, and if they don’t. Some funk it altogether. R. has been avoiding me for a week. I like best the well-brought up young men, almost boys, who walk up to me as if I were a dentist, turn very red, get it over, and then edge away to the bar as quickly as they decently can. Perhaps the bereaved ought to be isolated in special settlements like lepers.
The grieving person you greet knows she is grieving. It is the thing she thinks about during the day, when she goes to sleep, and when she wakes up in the middle of the night. She knows she may cry without warning or reason. She knows she is not always thinking clearly. Be willing to be human. It’s okay if you cry. It’s okay if you don’t know what to say. It’s okay that you still have a family and children and a life that continues. The pain in the grieving person’s life is from the loss, not from something you did. So don’t be afraid to be vulnerable. Don’t be afraid to let your humanity show.
- Err on the Side of Thoughtfulness
It doesn’t take much to minister to someone who is grieving. It doesn’t have to cost anything. A text with a simple message tells the grieving person you are thinking of him. A call or visit just to say hi and check in tells someone in a very real way that he has not been forgotten. A meal, coffee, or an invitation to a party lets people know that they are still part of the community. All too often I have erred on the side of avoiding people for fear of causing offense. I would tell myself that I wasn’t close enough to visit or to call or to attend a funeral. Really, I was only making excuses not to get involved because death made me uncomfortable. I wish I would have erred on the side of thoughtfulness. After the overwhelming kindness shown to me, I will be different the next time I have an opportunity to meet someone in his or her grief. We live in a culture that pretends that death isn’t real, like “He who must not be named,” like if we mention it, it will find us.
For the grieving family, death is all too real. It has come into their life and changed it forever. They are broken and in pain. They need you to reach out. Do it today.
- Written by Josh White (thewayofjoy.com)
- Written by Josh White (thewayofjoy.com)
I WOKE UP GRANDPA THE OTHER NIGHT,
I TOLD HIM I HAD SOMETHING THAT HE SHOULD WRITE.
I WAITED A WHILE, FOR A CERTAIN DAY TO TELL HIM, "GRANDPA, I'M OKAY".
I NEEDED HIM FOR SOMETHING SPECIAL I NEEDED TO SAY.
I'M SURROUNDED BY GRANDMA'S AND GRANDPA'S, COUSINS AND SO MANY FRIENDS I NEVER KNEW.
BUT THEY TELL ME THEY KNEW EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU.
THEY CHECK ON ME AND MAKE SURE I'M HAPPY AND DOING FINE.
THEY HAVE ALL BECOME FRIENDS OF MINE.
I MET LANE, AND WE PLAY A LOT.
HE HAS BECOME MY BEST FRIEND,
BUT NOT TO WORRY AVA, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE BEST AND THAT WILL NEVER END.
I AM WITH GOD, A PERSON I CALL"SIR".
FOR SOME THAT CREATES QUITE A STIR.
SIR DOESN'T SEEM TO CARE,
WHAT'S IMPORTANT IS THE LOVE THAT WE SHARE.
SIR GAVE ME AN ELECTRIC DEVICE.
IT'S BLUE AND GREEN AND IT'S REALLY NICE.
THIS DEVICE IS REALLY AN AMAZING THING.
I CAN HEAR YOUR PRAYERS AND THE SONGS YOU SING.
AND GRANDPA THIS IS NO ORDINARY TOY,
I CAN TURN GRIEF AND SORROW INTO LAUGHTER AND JOY.
I SAW MY BIG BROTHER WITH A NEW PUPPY AS THEY WENT FOR A RIDE.
IT MADE ME SMILE AS FINDLEY WAS SITTING AT MY SIDE.
I WATCHED MY MOMMY MAKE SOME COOKIES THAT SMELLED SO SWEET.
MOMMY USED TO GIVE ME SOME DOUGH AS A SPECIAL TREAT.
I SAW MY DADDY ON THE COUCH TAKING A NAP.
I LOVED TO WAKE HIM AND SNUGGLE IN HIS LAP.
I AM WAITING FOR SAINT PETER TO OPEN THE DOOR,
SO YOU CAN COME AND PLAY AND HUG ME SOME MORE.
YOU WILL BE HAPPY TO KNOW I WILL BE ALMOST FOUR.
I'M STAYING BUSY AND HAVING FUN.
KEEP ME IN YOUR THOUGHTS BECAUSE I AM A SPECIAL ONE.
AND GRANDPA.... MY NAME IS ASPEN DRAKE SEEMANN!!
Written by: Larry Hugh Newell (Grandpa) 7-30-2016
- J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone
Got a picture of you, I carry in my heart
Close my eyes to see it, when the world gets dark
Got a memory of you, I carry in my soul
I wrap it close around me, when the nights gets cold
Close my eyes to see it, when the world gets dark
Got a memory of you, I carry in my soul
I wrap it close around me, when the nights gets cold
If you asked me how I'm doing
I'd say just fine
But the truth is, baby
If you could read my mind
I'd say just fine
But the truth is, baby
If you could read my mind
Not a day goes by
That I don't think of you
After all this time
You're still with me it's true
Somehow you remain
Locked so deep inside
Baby, baby, oh, baby
Not a day goes by
That I don't think of you
After all this time
You're still with me it's true
Somehow you remain
Locked so deep inside
Baby, baby, oh, baby
Not a day goes by
I still wait for the phone
In the middle of the night
Thinking you might call me
If your dreams don't turn out right
And it still amazes me
That I lie here in the dark
Wishin' you were next to me
With your head against my heart
In the middle of the night
Thinking you might call me
If your dreams don't turn out right
And it still amazes me
That I lie here in the dark
Wishin' you were next to me
With your head against my heart
If you asked me how I'm doing
I'd say just fine
But the truth is, baby
If you could read my mind
I'd say just fine
But the truth is, baby
If you could read my mind
Not a day goes by
That I don't think of you
After all this time
You're still with me it's true
Somehow you remain
Locked so deep inside
That baby, baby, oh, baby
Not a day goes by
That I don't think of you
After all this time
You're still with me it's true
Somehow you remain
Locked so deep inside
That baby, baby, oh, baby
Not a day goes by
Minutes turn to hours
And the hours to days
Seems it's been forever
That I've felt this way
And the hours to days
Seems it's been forever
That I've felt this way
Not a day goes by
That I don't think of you
After all this time
You're still with me it's true
Somehow you remain
Locked so deep inside
Baby, baby, oh, baby
Not a day goes by
That I don't think of you
That I don't think of you
After all this time
You're still with me it's true
Somehow you remain
Locked so deep inside
Baby, baby, oh, baby
Not a day goes by
That I don't think of you
- Lonestar
This is dedicated to my new friend, Melissa Graves! God has brought us together through tragic circumstances, but your friendship has gotten me through some of my darkest days and I only hope I have done the same for you! I will always be here for you as you've been for me! Thank you for your continued support and friendship!! Love you sweet girl! XOXO, Lisa
Written by: Michelle Haxby
You and I have never met, but yet we visit the same place every day. We both walk down the same unguided dark path. We cling to memories as if it’s our life support. Our minds drift off to that same place, the place that temporarily distracts us from our grief.
You’re the one person who knows the way my stomach feels — the unhealed knot in the center of my gut. You know the hollowness in my heart. Your tears are the same shape as mine, and they roll off the cheek without warning. You smile just like me. It’s a smile that has been perfected so others would stop wondering about your state of health and when or if you would pull through this.
Our deep exhale has been performed countless times, since the reminder to breathe is still necessary.
Only you understand the box in the closet where we keep the little things — the items that most people wouldn’t find a connection to. But we do. We can find that connection. Maybe it’s a ribbon, a stone or a piece of paper someone had written your child’s name on. An article of clothing that was last worn as we try desperately to preserve their smell.
This isn’t the same box with all the newborn items in it. This is a different box than the cutely decorated one that holds baby blankets, hospital bands, old pacifiers and first haircut clippings. This box is kept much further back in the closet, almost hidden as if it’s a secret.
You are the only one in this world who can look me in the eyes and say, “I get it.” Dear friend, how I wish you didn’t get it.
Like clockwork, I lie awake in my bed every night. I know you’re probably doing the same. As lonely as I feel sometimes, I know you’re feeling lonely, too. As indescribable as my pain is, I know you understand. It’s like a silent language that neither one of us wants to speak.
Our children’s stories are most likely different. The paths that led us here are probably nothing alike. It’s what happened in the after that forever bonds us now. It’s the pain of burying our child that makes our scars the same and our paths cross.
I wouldn’t wish this feeling on anyone, but yet to know you exist is somewhat of a selfish comfort for me. It’s the only place I find acceptance — to know that someone out there is just like me. I know with you that my tears aren’t measured and my sadness is never judged. The length of the time I grieve will never be rushed, all the wrong things will never be said and you understand sometimes silence is enough.
My sadness will never make you uncomfortable because our words fit together like a puzzle. Even though I’m a stranger, my heartache brings you to tears. You live with that forever emptiness, too.
So as I pray my nightly prayers, I always include you — the mother I’ll never meet. You’re the other person out there who shares my same grief. I hope you find some comfort in knowing you’re not alone and that there’s someone out there like you.
- A.A. Milne, Winnie the Pooh
When shall we see a life full of steady enthusiasm, walking straight to its aim, flying home, as that bird is now, against the wind — with the calmness and the confidence of one who knows the laws of God and can apply them?
- Florence Nightingale
