We’ve all been stung by the pain of death in some way. Whether we’ve lost a family member, friend, loved one or we’ve had to watch our own loved ones lose someone they care about…death touches us all.
And yet, with all our experiences with death through the millennia, we as a species are down-right shitty at supporting those who are grieving.
There’s a model, or a theory (the Kubler-Ross model), of how we as humans process grief. It goes like this:
Where we make a critical misstep is in recognizing where people are in the grieving process. And so, we offer up empty words and platitudes.
Platitudes and Empty Words
I’m guilty of this too and by writing this, I’m committing to doing better. How many times have you found yourself at a funeral saying:
“They are in a better place.”
“It’s part of a bigger plan.”
“At least they are at peace now.”
We say these things thinking we’re helping; thinking we’re being supportive. We truly believe that we’re providing encouragement. In reality? These platitudes are only said to help US. Comfort US. To make US feel like we’ve done something helpful. To help US gain some sense of control or power over the situation.
If the person we're talking to is in the "Anger" stage, do they want to hear "your loved one is in a better place?"
This person you’re talking to just laid to rest someone they loved and cherished. Perhaps a spouse, a parent…God forbid…a child. The last thing this person needs (or wants) to hear is how this is part of some “master” plan. The last thing they want to hear is you quote some long-dead Saint or a Bible verse.
Regardless of if there was a long disease or a quick accident that took a person’s life…those that are grieving are likely in one of the first three stages of grief. Hearing “they are in a better place” does nothing to move someone along in their grieving process. And instead forces them into fake appreciation and agreement when in reality…they are anything but.
The Religious
I’m not saying this to disrespect the religious and those that believe there is a “better place” after this life. But rather to help us get better at supporting the grieving. Let’s talk about a religious example, Jesus.
Jesus. For Christianity, He’s the Son of God. God Himself.
During His human life, He experienced death, so, surely, He can provide us some words of wisdom, yes?
There’s a story of Jesus losing a close friend, Lazarus. Jesus arrived at His friend’s tomb. He looks around and sees all the grief and sadness on his friends and families faces…and did what?
Did He announce to the family “it’s OK, Lazarus is in a better place!”
How about “you know, the prophets didn’t promise that this life would be happy!”
Did He take the opportunity to preach? Teach? Drop knowledge and wisdom about death and the after-life? Quote scripture?
No.
We’re told that Jesus wept.
He wept.
Christians believe He is God. Maker of the universe. Ultimate power.
And He wept.
Why?
He knew what He was going to do. He knew He would raise Lazarus, so why the tears? He knew He could do it. So, again, why? Because He was showing us that grief…is OK. Grief isn’t a lack of faith; grief isn’t some revelation that we don’t believe in a grand plan or an afterlife.
Rather, He was showing us how to support those who have lost a loved one. He showed us that we must share in others grief. Help carry the load. Not offer empty words, but to open our hearts and close our mouths.
Our Role
I can’t think of a better way to say how we should provide support to someone other than using Henri Nouwen’s words. For those that aren’t familiar with this gentleman…Nouwen was a Dutch Catholic priest. He writes:
“The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing…not healing, not curing…that is a friend who cares.”
During the early stages of grief, our job isn’t to heal the person who is grieving. It isn’t to make their pain go away. It's not to tell them it's going to be OK or quote saints. It’s to share in that pain; to grieve with our loved ones. And, oftentimes, to sit in silence and weep.
And it’s hard. But then again, it’s supposed to be.
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