Mourning with Those Who Mourn

[Jeff Lebowski]

This is an especially difficult situation. Not only was your brother going through the incredible loss and sense of tragedy in losing a son, he also had to deal with the pain of being held as a pariah. The message that sends is, "That person committed suicide, so their family doesn't deserve to mourn".

This couldn't be further from the truth. Most of the time, suicide victims do not foreshadow their intentions. Often there is no way the person's family had no idea the degree of self-loathing one must undergo to commit such an act.

The following quote sums up many of my feelings regarding dealing with loss:

That's a great quote. You find out a lot about people when you go through a crisis.

[Mrs. Funk]

Often our knowledge of the Plan of Salvation can lead us to say things that are not appropriate for a griever to hear. "She is in a better place", "He is with God now", etc., though meant to be helpful only serve to enhance the pain of loss. Further these types of sayings can enforce the feeling of loneliness felt by the griever.

I want to touch on two specific events that helped me through a similar situation.

I lost my youngest brother on Yearbook Day when I was a sophomore in high school. He was a baby, and would be 24 this year. We had plans to leave for Lake Powell at the end of the following week, and we went. In hindsight going to LP was a huge mistake as it substantially disrupted and deferred the grieving process for our family.

My parents called us into their room early in the next morning, told us the news, and my parents wept uncontrollably and were paralyzed/terrified, unable to speak. My sister (age ~7) cried immediately. Brother age 11 had tears in his eyes. Brother age 13 was mad and crying, punched a hole in the bedroom door. I was almost 16, and completely numb and in denial. I put it out of my mind, pretended it didn't happen.

I didn't want to face my own potential mortality; I was a strapping, indestructible teenaged rugby player with nerves of steel and all the answers to life's questions.

I went to school that morning and went through the Yearbook Day motions. Very few people knew what happened, and I wasn't about to talk to anybody about it (needed to keep up the teenage boy "tough guy" appearance). I essentially ambled around puffy-eyed trading my yearbook with others, exchanging pleasantries, and lacking the courage to talk to the 'popular' girls. I moved into the area a bit over a year earlier while in Jr High, so I wasn't really "with the in-crowd".

(1) Later that afternoon my three closest friends showed up and took me out to dinner, on the stipulations that I could talk about anything I wanted to and that I need not bring my own money. We went out to a nice Chinese restaurant and spoke of life, school, summer plans, etc. This one event had a larger positive impact on my eventual recovery from the grief than anything else.

(2) The day afterward my neighbor, who was one of the "popular girls" group and who typically wouldn't hardly give me the time of day, rang my doorbell and wanted to talk to me. She told me how sorry she was for my loss, and asked if I wanted to talk about anything. We spoke of families, life, love, plans for the future, our favorite teachers, what AP classes we were taking the next year, who was dating whom, typical life stuff. She apologized for acting as if she couldn't talk to me in public, and I apologized to her for being a cold-blooded jerk and a rumor monger (I had said some mean things about her...). We had a great exchange and became "allies" in school and at church, and would stand up for each other. She moved away a year later just before Senior year, and I never realized until years later how much she actually helped me in my own grief process. I also never thanked her for her time that day, and her friendship afterward. The hour we spent talking on my porch that day may have been one of the greatest gifts I could have received at the time.

Late one night afew years later, I had my own collapse-and-sob-uncontrollably moment. This was absolutely necessary, required even. I had put off the inevitable to "be strong", and was essentially held back by my grief. After my weeping event I felt as though a great burden had been lifted, and was saddened over the lost time spent under the weight of said burden.

My takeaway from the way my own incredible parents handled our situation is this: MOURN with the person who mourns. GRIEVE with the person who grieves. Mourning is hard work; become a partner in another's grieving process, as 'many hands make light the work'.

Grieving is of course a highly personal journey. Most people don't even recognize where they stand along the path. I didn't understand the process, or the 5 stages of grief very well until I read "On Death and Dying" by Kubler-Ross. As we progress through the stages we do not understand what we will need during the next stage.

Giving of ones' time to simply be a shoulder to cry on can be the greatest gift of all. If necessary I would repeat the offer of help or to spend time together as needed. Even if the person does not accept, he or she will feel loved.

A beautiful, terrifically relevant post. Thanks for sharing. I loved what you said about mourning being work. I had never thought of it in precisely those terms before.

[NorthwestUteFan]

A beautiful, terrifically relevant post. Thanks for sharing. I loved what you said about mourning being work. I had never thought of it in precisely those terms before.

It is a work that doesn't, and imho SHOULDN'T end. As I type this I have tears running down my cheeks thinking of those I have lost. It makes me appreciate them better.

[Eddie]

It is a work that doesn't, and imho SHOULDN'T end. As I type this I have tears running down my cheeks thinking of those I have lost. It makes me appreciate them better.

I will give you a loud amen.

I don't do grief well. I do my best to avoid talking about it and hiding my losses from those around me.

I've also been thinking of those I've lost and getting misty eyed as I read this as well. Even something as "silly" as a messageboard thread helps with the process...

[Joe Public]

All that said, I am somewhat at a loss as to help my friend. I recognize her need, and don't have great solutions. I suspect that the world is full of well-meaning but uncertain individuals who are so terrified of doing or saying the wrong thing that they simply do nothing.

I join you other posters in remembering and mourning.

For whatever reason, it helped me feel understood when people briefly mentioned their own feelings of grief. Several people expressed their condolences and said something to the effect of "I remember losing [someone in their life], and it was really hard." Also, having friends include me in the normal routine was helpful. For instance, some of my friends at work didn't avoid inviting me to lunches, even though I wasn't the cheeriest of companions.

The better-place/plan-of-salvation comments provided no consolation and, many times, came across as insensitive. I'm sure that's a case-by-case thing.

[Green Monstah]

So, I got an email message today that the mother of one of my very good high school friend's died on Monday.

She was an LDS woman who was never really involved in church, but she and her ex-husband raised her kids as LDS until high school age, when the family basically stopped participating.

Her son (my friend) now lives in NY, fairly far from me, and we haven't really kept in touch over the last 12 years. Is it out of place to drop him a line? If you're in my shoes, what is the best way help my friend during this difficult time?

[KillerDog]

So, I got an email message today that the mother of one of my very good high school friend's died on Monday.

She was an LDS woman who was never really involved in church, but she and her ex-husband raised her kids as LDS until high school age, when the family basically stopped participating.

Her son (my friend) now lives in NY, fairly far from me, and we haven't really kept in touch over the last 12 years. Is it out of place to drop him a line? If you're in my shoes, what is the best way help my friend during this difficult time?

Call him. I've had two instances where a person I used to know well lost a family member that I also knew. In both instances I made the call and let them talk about their lost loved one. I've never regretted it.

[Mrs. Funk]

Call him. I've had two instances where a person I used to know well lost a family member that I also knew. In both instances I made the call and let them talk about their lost loved one. I've never regretted it.

Agreed. It's interesting how little distance and time can matter during times of tragedy. Knowing somebody cares, even if you haven't talked to him or her in ages, can make a world of difference.

[Green Monstah]

Sorry if this is a bit of a threadjack (this was a great thread, btw).

Yesterday was the 14th anniversary of my uncle's death (had a massive stroke at age 55). He left behind 8 kids ages 8 to 25, and though he had his flaws (like we all do) was a great man by all accounts. For whatever reason, I always remember the anniversary of his death. I was in the room when life support was removed, and it was one of the most heart-wrenching experiences of my life. Since his death, my extended family has fractured and we scarcely speak to each other. Two of my uncle's sons were about my age and we have been great friends our entire lives. I dropped them an email yesterday telling them that their family was in my thoughts and I was remembering their dad. Here's one of their replies.

It's been the least melancholy one yet for me. The
saddest part any more is the inevitable erosion of memories. I have a
hard time remembering exactly what his face looked like, what his
voice sounded like, etc. Even if I did have a clear memory it probably
wouldn't be entirely accurate. But the upside is that it will come
rushing back when we meet again, just like seeing an old friend after
a long absence.

I read that in my office this morning and my eyes welled with tears; in part because I know just how special their dad was to them; but also because this is something I'll have to face as my rather unhealthy parents continue to age. I don't want to forget my mom's voice or the way my dad's nose hooks on the end.

To keep with the theme of the thread, I'm now at a loss for words. How do I respond to that? He's clearly healing, but I wish somehow that I could help to stave off the "corosion" of memories.

[Dwight Schr-ute]

This thread has me weeping at my desk. Mourning is a beautiful thing as is helping someone who is mourning. But it's hard to open yourself to people when you hurt and a lot of times we're uneasy when people open themselves to us, despite our intentions. It's a messy process. One that probably should never end.

Every time a card gets passed around the office for the loss of a coworker's there's an immense pressure to put something meaningful in that tiny little blank spot and it all comes across so contrived and shallow. But even just a name says, "I'm thinking of you."

I lost my father 4 1/2 years ago, 10 days before my first child was born. I wasn't by his bed because my wife was high risk and I wasn't going to make the 6 hour drive and leave her behind and I wasn't going to let her come without doctor approval and copies of her records. I got the call from my sister as we were driving through Cedar City. The same place where we found out that we were pregnant almost 9 months previous. Even though I had talked to him over the phone the night before and said our "just in case" goodbyes, I will carry that decision with me until my own passing.

So as face after face passed through the line of the viewing, most that I recognized and plenty that I didn't, it meant the world to me. Because whether they said something or not, their presence told me loud and clear, "I knew your father. And he was important enough for me to come honor his passing." As I sat on the stand and looked out at all those people, that was enough to bring me so much comfort and peace. No one wants to leave this world unnoticed and already forgotten. Sacrificing your time assures the grieving that their loved one didn't. And when that card and flower arrangement arrived from my coworkers, I don't remember what any of them said. But I remember that they said something. And that's nice.

One of my favorite movies is Moonlight Mile. It's about grieving and how important the process is to healing. It seems counter intuitive, but when I grieve, including several times writing this, I remember my father and the process brings me joy. Last summer, my wife's biological father committed suicide. As far as I know, my wife hasn't shed a single tear about it. Even though he wasn't a part of her life until her twenties, and not a very positive one from then on, I can't help but feel that there's something genetic in loss. Certainly I'm not qualified to tell my wife that she should have been sad, but I have definitely assured her that it would be okay if she was. And it wouldn't necessarily even be a reflection of the kind of person he was.

So in the context of why we're not very good at it, that's hard to really quantify, but history shows that we're just not very good at dealing with people's business. Like it was mentioned earlier, I don't think that it's a LDS any more or less than just a innate human thing. Look at what we do pretty well as members of the church: baking cookies (quick drop off), paying tithing (beats the hell out of swinging a hammer and building the things ourselves), referring people to the missionaries (a pass along card is more convenient than bearing testimony to a friend), even temple work is easier missionary work because the people are dead and you don't have to get involved with there stuff. Home teaching should be one of the easiest assignments in the church. How hard is it to go talk to someone that you probably get along with pretty well with, for 20 minutes?

There's a great line in Moonlight Mile when one of the grievers asks someone who's been grieving for years, "How much of you are you capable of giving someone?" The girl responds ""60%." The guy then drives the point home, "It's the other 40% that matters."

[Viking]

That's a great quote. You find out a lot about people when you go through a crisis.

My closest uncle had a son hang himself. I had a ticket to AZ, went to the airport, but could not get on the plane because I could not bear to see him and had to call and apologize.

Did I lack guts? Did he know who stood with him? Not sure.

[SuperGabers]

That breaks my heart.

Seriously. Tears over here. I can't imagine how difficult it would be to lose a parent as a little child and I can't imagine how difficult it would be to lose a little child as a parent.

[hello]

I wanted to add that this a great thread! It's hard to know what others need but so important that we do something, instead of nothing. I have found that in my own experience people don't want to hear about how great the gospel is and how it all works out in the end, they just want to know that someone cares how they FEEL right now. Sometimes it may not even be that they want to talk, but they want to know people care and give them the opportunity to talk if they want to.

A very, very difficult situation has been dealt with by a family I know. It was a very public ordeal. I realized that this event was no different than not knowing what to say when someone loses a loved one. I had no idea what to say or if I should just pretend nothing was happening at all. Would I offend them, did they want to talk about it, etc. I found out that they loved that people said SOMETHING to them because then they knew they cared and were concerned. Yes, some people might have said things they shouldn't have but most of that was people trying to impose thoughts or feelings about the situation on them. (Just like saying you shouldn't be sad anymore, they are in a better place)

I felt bad for all the times people could have used my help and support and I said nothing because I didn't know what to say. At the time, I felt it was better to not say anything then say the wrong thing and I realize now there is no wrong thing to say, as long as it's done with a loving heart and intent on listening to them and what they need. An open ended question is great. That way they can tell you things if they want to, but aren't forced into something they aren't ready to say yet. Don't ask just once either. I don't know if it's necessary to say something every single time you see them (if it's often) but definitely more than the first time. It's really hard later down the road and it's nice for people to know that they are still thought of and people worry if they are okay. Especially ask about the situation if people give you hints that they want to talk! If they bring it up, they want to talk about it.

I hope some of what I've said helps someone else. To the person who asked if they should call, my answer now is always YES!

[The Rambam]

It was after everything was done, after everybody had left that the true grief came crashing down. My brother and I were both under ten years old, and we all crawled into my dad's bed and just wept for hours.

I have a tender heart (really) and can't help but feeling great empathy when hearing of things like this. I am so sorry for your loss. [crying]

[wuapinmon]

I wrote this on Halloween, and I shared it with the Speakeasy. I took out some more sensitive issues that I wouldn't want to offend some family members, and that now allows me to share it here with everyone.

Yesterday made 4 years since my dad died. Right after he died, I just started singing "Abide with Me" in Spanish ("Acompáñame") right there in the hospital room because I find that the lyrics resonate with me more in Spanish, because I love the hymn, it fits in my narrow vocal range, and I felt like it would help me deal with my very really grief in the moment.

That hymn now serves as a permanent reminder of that moment and of the loss of my father.

Yesterday, the closing hymn in Sacrament meeting was "Abide with Me." I started crying in the back as I quietly sang it to myself in Spanish. I didn't sob or lose it, but the tears were there. I thought that that was going to be all that would happen yesterday. I felt fine. I came home, sat down at the computer and posted an abbreviated version of what I just shared on my facebook wall. I clicked send, and then started looking at my news feed to see what other people were doing.

My mom posted this photo of my father holding my Marley X at the Cafe du Monde in NOLA. The look on my dad's face and on my baby's face are ones of love and wonder:



And, I lost it. I mean, sobbing, chest-heaving, feeling-like-he-just-died-again-and-I-was-back-in-that-damned-hospital-room crying. My wife came down wondering what was going on and saw the photo and just started gently rubbing my back. Marley came down and just wordlessly hugged me. My little Calliope patted my knee and said "he's sad because he misses his daddy." And my boy, my Jack, the kid who looks at me the way I remember looking at my father, whose Primary education is apparently taking hold in his brain, bluntly but oh-so-lovingly told me in his always-too-loud voice that "DON'T WORRY, PAPI. YOU'LL SEE YOUR DAD AGAIN WHEN YOU'RE DEAD. IT'LL BE OKAY."

When most people talk about the Resurrection after someone dies, I find it annoying. When my son screams it at me, I found it touchingly reassuring. That's my hope and faith.

Yesterday, we held a Day of the Dead observance at Coker. It was very cathartic for me, and for many other people. Some of my students have commented about how much they enjoyed making an altar for someone they lost.

If you want to see a grand sendoff, watch this video:

[YOUTUBE]krJW2qMVv4M[/YOUTUBE]