On Lessons in the Dark

Compassionate Communication When Grief Hits

I’ve been struggling to write since Christmas. I sit down, open a blank document, write a sentence or two, then delete it. Over and over.

This post is about why you haven’t seen any new articles from me for a while. It is about trauma and communication and grace through the hard times of our humanity.

You see, one of my grandchildren died about two months ago after a long illness. And one of my children has been experiencing the death of their marriage. Grief has lit a match and thrown it into our family. We will make it through, we keep putting one foot in front of the other, but damn, we are devastated. Hollowed out.

They say write what you know. This is what I know right now. Hopefully you’ll find a nugget you can use, today or eventually. Three things I’ve observed:

Lowered expectations can be a form of grace

I am uncomfortable with my lack of consistent writing -- any writing, really – for the past two months, when my initial goal was to publish an article in this journal every two weeks. I am disappointed in myself and a tad bit afraid I won’t find my way back into a productive rhythm. But I’m telling myself it’s okay. I really enjoy writing for you. It’s just that right now I’m internalizing so much, processing so much, that my creative energy is in short supply. I’ll get back to it. I’ll trust the grief process and keep navigating it. 

My friends have done a good job of holding space for me to talk or not talk as I want. They listen well, and they do things like order pizza and invite me to work on a jigsaw puzzle with them when I need some normal chill time after an emotionally heavy day. Yet I hear myself telling myself I’m not being a very good friend because I talk so much about the pain and stress in my family. Or I just don’t engage in conversation as much as usual. I’m not the listener these days I like to think I am. Then I tell myself that’s okay. And my friends tell me that’s okay, too. I’ve listened before, I’ll listen again. In this season it’s my turn to be listened to.

Two of those friends are now experiencing their own losses. That’s what life does: sometimes it’s like a river that is calm through wide places and sometimes it’s turbulent and deep when the snowmelt rushes through narrow, rocky places. And so we do take turns listening. Sometimes we just be, together. No show. No expectations. Reality. Grace.

Vulnerability heals and connects

I also remind myself that I don’t have to be the quintessential professional all the time as I write. Hence this weird post. Most likely you will still read, and you might even resonate with it, relating human to human. Hopefully my willingness to be imperfect gives you the space and permission to also be imperfect. When we can be vulnerable enough to genuinely cry with those who cry and laugh with those who laugh, we are practicing empathy, which is a key component of emotional intelligence and therefore good communication.

There are no magic words

People often don’t know what to say when they learn someone has experienced a tragedy. Why should they? No words can match the loss. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t say anything. It just means it’s okay not to. “I’m so sorry” is fine. Or just “Oh, how devastating.” Be aware that sometimes our urge to say something, anything, comes from a place of wanting to dispel the discomfort someone’s grief brings up in ourselves. Avoid this urge at all costs. Their tears will not harm you.

Simple messages that say you’re thinking of them are dear.

Don’t say things like, “You had to know this was coming,” or “At least they are in a better place,” or “I know how you feel.” These words don’t lessen the pain; they feel patronizing.

The best thing to do is simply be present. Offer a hug--just ask first and respect if it’s not wanted. Offer practical assistance if appropriate and needed. Try to be specific rather than extending a general “If I can help let me know,” which puts the responsibility for initiating help on the person who has little energy to make any extra decisions. Ask if the person wants to talk. Ask if it’s okay to ask questions about the loved one or the loss. Then listen. Just listen.

Order a pizza and ask if they want it delivered to their house to eat alone or if they want to come over and hang out. Maybe get out a puzzle. Keep it low key.

That’s about it for now.

Thanks for reading.

Onward.