098 - Revisiting a note to friends who are recently grieving.

What I would say if we were sitting together.

Welcome back! (or welcome).

Eleven months ago, a friend died. That’s true for too many people. At the time, I wrote a newsletter to all of us.

I looked at these words the other day and thought, “I should share that again.” The initial shock has faded. Things have been learned. Breathing has happened. Holidays have passed. But in the next weeks, memories and stories and stuff will happen.

A good friend said, “They tell you that the first year is the hardest. They are wrong.” She said this well into the second year after her husband died.

So friends, here you go.

I still love you.

Jon

PS I’d welcome comments on what’s been helpful this year.

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Friends matter.

A friend once said something close to “friends are the family you choose, or who choose you.”

This week (in 2024), a friend died. We weren’t close, but had been aware of each other for a long time. Her spouse is a friend, and as a couple they were deeply embedded in circles of friendship that I care about. A few weeks back, an acquaintance died suddenly. I know and care deeply about his parents.

No one has asked for this, but I thought, “Knowing what I know about loss and grief, what could I say to these people I care about and have, from time to time, cared for?”

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• This is hard. For each of you and for all of the interconnected communities.

• There are no rules for how you are supposed to feel or interact. You may feel expectations from various people or places, but there aren’t any rules. Your chaplain said so. (and even these words are more “try this” than “do this”.

• Everyone has had a different person die, but for each of you, this is real grief. She was a best friend growing up, she was the only sister in a house of brothers, she was a singer and worship leader who talked thoughtfully about loving and being loved by Jesus as if it is true. He was the oldest son, the pastor, the favorite speaker at camp. Whatever the connection, this hurts. Your loss is real. Your grief “counts”.

• We don’t have to talk about what this all means. About the lessons we are learning, about the “at leasts”. We are not contractually bound to talk at all, particularly if we are talking to make ourselves feel less uncomfortable. Their current peace doesn’t obligate us to be happy for us.

• In the book I wrote about what I say when loved one’s die, one reflection is called, “Sometimes people say stupid things. But they mean well.” People who have walked through death, see that headline and smile wryly.

• Put Wednesday, March 13, (or Monday, February 19, or whatever day is coming to mind for you) on your calendar as a recurring event, and remember it. So that in a month, or in two months, or in six months, you’ll remember to reach out to family, or friends, or yourself.

• Please don’t make family members comfort you or show hospitality to you. (If you want more about this, look at Silk’s Ring Theory--which has nothing to do with silk. It's worth the read. And gives you permission to tell people to shut up. Ring Theory: How not to say the wrong thing - Los Angeles Times (latimes.com)

• “Welcomed her.” Not as much about took her, but more about welcomed her, welcomed him. (If you know, you know).

• Yes, you can imagine how hard it is. Right? So, you may not need to say that.

• But, with all these cautions about what to say, go ahead and talk. Talk to each other. Talk to the family. Talk to yourself. Talk to God. Say their names. Use the word “died”.

• And write. Write stories about the time that they helped you. Write stories about the time they made you laugh. Writing will help you (even with the tears) and writing will give something to read in quiet lonely moments.

• Be sad. Your chaplain friend gives you permission to be sad.

• Spend less time telling other people about the hope they should or can or ought to have. Feel free to spend more time quietly leaning into that hope and comfort.

I love you. It’s hard. I’ve marked my calendar.

Jon

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