In The Company of the Grieving

“When you think you know what to say, you don’t. When you don’t know what to say, you do… NOTHING.”   -Me


On Tuesday, May 25th, I received the news that a younger cousin of mine, my mom’s nephew, had died a tragic death in my hometown of Sterling, IL. My mom has four sisters, and they’re all very close. Their mother, my grandma, passed away in October, just four months after Shani. So now, in losing her nephew, my mom was absolutely devastated, and my immediate concern was for her. In less than a year, she lost her daughter-in-law, her mother, and her nephew, who was also her god-son. I just wondered how much grief one woman could take before cracking.

My mom is an amazing woman; so of course, her concern was with me and not herself. With the anniversary of Shani’s death just 8 days away at the time, she wanted to make sure I was ok.

She told me, “You do what you need to do for you. If you need to stay home, stay home.”

I didn’t even consider that an option.

“If anyone knows how important family is right now, it’s me,” I thought. “I have to go.”

My only stipulation was that I had to be back by June 2 in order to follow through with the ceremonial day I had planned. Outside of that, I knew we needed to be there for my aunt and uncle and their family. They needed us.

We decided we would leave the day following my nephew’s death, which was exactly one week before the anniversary of Shani’s death. Upon awakening, I felt something I hadn’t encountered in a long time. An old sensation emerged.

For months after the murder, as I moved through the fog between unconsciousness and awareness every single morning, my reality would set in, causing me to cry out in a full body groan of deep sorrow and agony. This time though, instead of thinking of losing Shani, I envisioned my cousin. In reliving that all too familiar wave of shock, I understood that 700 miles away, my aunt and uncle were experiencing that same horrible emptiness, and I knew I had to get there.

I won’t get into too many specifics about all of the different ways that I identified with them that weekend, but we were most definitely connected. Here I was, a year removed from Shani’s death, standing with them while they were in the midst of their own tragedy. It may seem morbid, but this may have been the place where I’ve felt most comfortable since her passing. After a year of not knowing what to say to people, and others most certainly not knowing what to say to me, I was in a place that I knew well. Sterling, Illinois is my home. I was honored to have the opportunity to be present in their time of need. I could also sense that they saw me in a different light than anyone else there, as someone who had already navigated the exact same waters.

So, after that experience, I thought I might share a few of my own observations and suggestions for those of you who may find yourselves in the company of the grieving. If you haven’t been there already, you will at some point in your life, so take these to heart. Some people may feel differently, as we all grieve in our own way, and that’s fine. This is about my experience though, so here goes…

When someone you know has lost a loved one unexpectedly:

1. Show up! Do whatever you can to be there. Step outside of yourself and your own needs and wants and understand that this is the most important thing that any one person can do for another. I won’t remember who missed my wedding or birthday party, but I will never forget those who were there when Shani died. Show up and be yourself. People who are grieving need strong friends with big shoulders to fall onto that will hold them up when they can’t walk. They need people to smile for them when they can’t.

2. Don’t talk about yourself, at least not early on. When people would come into my home and try to connect in those early months, it drove me crazy. They might say, “When I lost my dad, mom, brother, dog, etc…” Are you kidding me? My wife was executed at point blank range by her very own son, and you want to talk to me about your Granny who lived to be 102? Yes, losing anyone close to you is difficult, but unexpected, shocking deaths are exactly that, and they are different. Just don’t do this, please. Instead, don’t say a word. Just be, and let the grieving vent, let them cry.

3. Don’t push your grief onto them. You may have loved the person as well, but if you need assistance from others in dealing with the loss, go somewhere else. If it is my loved one and you’re completely falling apart in my presence, you’re stealing energy from me. Collective grieving is no fun for those immediately affected. We need strength. If you need to break down and curl up in a ball, go somewhere else. It’s your job to be here for me, not my job to be there for you. (Thanks for that one, Barb)

4. As time moves on, understand that I may need to talk, and if I do, then you need to listen. Please don’t change the subject and suggest we speak about something happy in nature. At the same time, please don’t bring up the deceased unless I do. It may be the only 30 seconds of peace I have that entire day and then you stab me in the heart. Let me be the one to bring up that topic.

5. In the weeks, months and years to come, PLEASE check in with me, even if I don’t respond immediately or get back with you right away. The random texts and e-mails saying, “Thinking about you,” mean EVERYTHING. It seems as though most people go right on with their lives and wonder what to say or do once some time has passed. Or they seem to think they are a bother or that there are plenty of people around us. I’ve learned that one can never have too many people giving you their love. It’s vital. Please stay present.

6. DO NOT tell me what I need to do or place expectations on us. You really have no idea what it is we are going through. Don’t make stupid suggestions. We are doing the best we can at the fastest pace we can. Everyone’s situation is different, and everyone is going to react differently along the way. There is no right or wrong way to grieve and/or heal.

You would not believe some of the insensitive things I’ve heard over the last year. Here are just a few (with my responses underneath):

“You know, eventually you’re just going to have to move on!”
“I want to punch you in the face. Hard.”

“They say that it takes like a year or so to get through these things.”

“Really? Do ‘they’ know what it’s like to see their wife following an autopsy?”

“I wish you didn’t obsess about these anniversaries and stuff so much.”

“Hmmm…your birthday is pretty important to you, right? The day my wife died is important to me.”

“Some people just don’t dwell on things as much as you do.”

“Oh, okay! Maybe we should go to Disney World! Get out of my face with that.”

Look, I get it, even if I look at these comments and still wonder what the hell these people were thinking. There’s really not a lot someone can say to me anymore that I won’t chalk up to their just being human. They really don’t know what to say but feel compelled to say something. They don’t know what to do but feel the need to do something. That “something” is very easy; just shut up and show up. Stand tall and listen. Get me a plate of food and take me for a walk. Shoot me e-mails and texts letting me know you’re there, and please don’t give up on me. I’m wounded, but the wound will heal eventually. I just need your support to help stitch me back up and nurse me back to health.

I’ve been blessed with a phenomenal family and amazing friends. They kept suicide watch for months, gave me the space I needed to breathe, and answered the phone whenever I called. Without them, I’m pretty sure I’d be sitting on a bar stool somewhere, ready to blast anyone who looked at me funny or worse, drowning my sorrows with a revolver pointed at the side of my head. Or, I may not be here at all.

Without them, I know I most definitely wouldn’t be where I am now. I owe all of them my life.

I can’t even begin to describe how horrible I feel for my family in Illinois. In one instant, the paths of their lives changed forever. I want them to know, though, that they can make it through this. Sometimes the only thing you can do is to breathe, and that’s good enough. If it’s too difficult to do anything else, find a spot on the floor and stay there as long as you need. Nothing is going to happen to you there, and eventually you’ll get up. I don’t know about time healing all wounds, because I’m not there yet, but I do know that your feelings will change with time if you let them.

If I had one thing I would deem appropriate to tell the bereaved, it would be this:

“There are two rules to grieving. 1) Don’t hurt yourself, and 2) Try not to hurt anyone else. Everything else is fair game.”    (Thanks for that one, Josh. I love you.)