What Not To Say To A Grieved Parent

What Not To Say To A Grieved Parent

I would die if I were you. In addition to being obviously rude, this statement is also a lie. You would not die. Human beings are built to withstand all manner of chaos and calamity and survive it, be transformed and changed by it, yet live on. When a grieving parent hears this, it feels like a judgment, or a prediction—you will never be happy again and if you are you should feel guilty—or, at its worst, a suggestion. We already feel cursed; please don’t make it worse.

Say this instead: That sounds like the hardest thing in the world. I’ll be thinking about you.

I can’t imagine. This is also a lie, because the idea of losing a child wouldn’t be so horrible unless you could imagine it. It’s also a distancing maneuver, as if by refusing to imagine the worst you can somehow avoid it. Grief is already deeply isolating, and by offering pity instead of empathy (which requires the use of one’s imagination), the griever feels more alone than ever.

Say this instead: I am so sad for you. What would be helpful to you?

I have no idea what your feeling. You do. You're sad. The death of a child from a devastating neurological illness is one of the saddest things in the world, even if you never met the child.

Happy July 4/Christmas/Hanukkah/Thanksgiving/Birthday,’ etc. 

Happy Nothing, please! For the first year, at least, all of the above are painful milestones in which the loss of our child is amplified. That doesn’t mean you should skip the seasonal salutations or the bereaved’s birthday, but keep the merriment on mute. And if you are going to send a holiday card, think very carefully before sending a picture of your own children. (According to my mentor and mom friend Donna, receiving a Christmas card with pictures of the sender’s healthy kids is one of the most common grievances of bereaved parents.) And please skip the “Have a great day,” or “Enjoy your weekend.” For bereaved parents there will be no great days or enjoyable weekends for a long time.

 ‘You’ll feel better eventually.’

Maybe. But unless you’ve lost your own child, you’re not qualified to make this prediction.

 ‘You’re doing great!’

Thanks, but wearing my social mask doesn’t mean I’m doing great. Better to say, “It’s good to see you.”

‘Your family is in my prayers.’

Thank you, but keep in mind some of us might have different spiritual perspectives if you want to talk about your interpretation of God.

Just listen, please!

Why is this about what not to say, rather than what one should say? Because being present for a bereaved parent is much less about talking than about listening, if we choose to share our grief with you. So-called active listening  -– reinforcing what is being said, deferring advice and judgment –-  might be the most healing gift you can offer.

 ‘When my mother/sister/best friend died …’

All bereavements are painful, but most parents would agree that losing a child is uniquely excruciating because it defies the natural order of life. Although your loss doesn’t necessarily have to be off-limits in conversation, avoid using your own experience as a means of connecting with a bereaved parent. Keep the focus on listening, rather than sharing.

2)      ‘Let me know if there’s anything we can do.’

Highly unlikely we would do that, especially in the early immobilizing days of grief. Much better to take the initiative by thinking of something that might be helpful and giving us the option of saying yes or no.

3)      ‘I can’t imagine what you’re going through.’

Ouch. I hope you do have the emotional depth to  “imagine” what we are going through, especially if you are a parent yourself. This makes us feel more isolated. (But points for not saying, “I know how you feel.”)

4)      ‘I couldn’t do what you did. You are so strong.’

What were we supposed to do when our child was diagnosed with a terminal disease or tragically been taken … put him up for adoption?