I remember his death like it was yesterday. My father received the phone call at work. Seeing him pull up and race inside, asking for my mother, pulling me aside, it’s all still emblazoned in my mind. I remember his face. I remember how his mouth opened but couldn’t speak. I remember my mother collapsing.
I couldn’t believe this was happening to OUR family. I remember the stress. There were so many people to call. Where will his body rest? What do we do next?
No one plans to bury a child and especially not like that. The feat that is an unplanned funeral is a tremendous one : Picking out a casket, planning a memorial service – with no previous plan in place and no prior conversation on what his wishes would have been, no cemetery plot purchased, no money set aside …. and all to be done by a grieving family in a matter of days.
No doubt, the exhaustion that accompanies a planned funeral after months of caring for an ailing family member is tremendous, despite the time to prepare. An unplanned death seems to be gifted more energy in the form of a shock response. Perhaps shock is somehow a universal self-protection mechanism that allows the loved ones of an unplanned death to, in an almost zombie like state, prepare such rituals before the grief sets in and they are incapacitated. I remember being in shock.
I remember the people. There were so many people. His funeral line stretched so far behind our limo that we couldn’t see the end of it.
Some came and stayed. They were helpful and supportive and present. They were our pillars.
Some came and left. Worthy supports who served as a meaningful presence who then quietly and respectfully retreated. They were greatly appreciated.
And still there were some who merely poked their head in. Uninvited and intrusive, they served as nothing less than a disruption. Like the onlookers to a car accident, they didn’t bother to help but they wanted to know what had happened. They stopped-in only to peer. They wanted to talk when we didn’t. Twenty years later, I still have ill feelings towards those people. You don’t ever want to be those people … that disruption … or even worse … that blatant cause of pain. Morbid curiosity is never welcome in the presence of a grieving person.
I remember the storm – the non-stop ringing of the phone, the busyness of putting together a meaningful service in days- photos pulled out of basement boxes and strewn across the kitchen table, requests being given and offers being accepted, the opening and closing of the door from visitors. It was a chaos that was as organized as an unplanned funeral could be and it was only made possible by the family and friends rallied to help, and the fact that we were still in shock. I’d venture say it’s probably the most comforting time in the first year. Everyone is together. Everyone has a job. The teamwork is amazing. The unity is powerful. It’s exhausting but it’s done with great purpose and in your darkest moments, you still feel a sense of importance and accomplishment and support.
And then the services are over and people go back home and the empty calm after the storm begins. First, the phone rings less frequently. Then, the meals stop coming. The flowers die and the mailbox is once again filled with just bills instead of sympathy cards. Family and friends have gone back home and back to work and you know you’ll have to too. It seems the rest of the world has moved-on but you haven’t. You go to the grocery store for the first time and you look at all the shoppers and you think … “They have no idea. They have no idea that I just lost my brother last week.” They’re pissed about the long line at the register and you’re just trying to breathe again. Leaving the house and entering a public place, you feel like you’ve been mauled by a bear and no one around you notices that your organs are hanging out and there’s a trail of blood behind you. It was the loneliest time of my life. And returning to work/school was worse. I was ready to escape the oppression inside my home but the outside world was so fast, so loud, so different from two weeks ago. The oppression wasn’t just inside of my home, it was inside of me. And interacting with people was the biggest torture of all. People didn’t know what to say or how to act or where to look. Sympathy was appreciated but it was awkward. . . I wanted to feel normal, but I wasn’t.
Suicide is almost always unexpected and it is always tragic. Despite the progression of the world on many other things, mental illness and suicide continue to hold steadfast their “taboo” nature and it makes people uncomfortable. The grief is complicated because the cause of death and the victim are the same entity. It is also a less common cause of death which some people haven’t encountered on a directly personal level. And yet, the numbers are climbing and people are talking more.
Accordingly in Emory State, 34,598 people commit suicide every year. The suicide rate in the United States is nearly double the homicide rate. How often do you hear the news channels and government officials talk about reducing our homicide rate? And how often do you hear them address our suicide numbers? People who suffer from major depression are 20 times more likely to commit suicide. Treatment for depression is proven to be successful and yet only 25% of people with major depression receive help. Prevention of suicide is the key and organizations like Out of the Darkness are aimed at doing just that. But when it’s not prevented and this tragedy strikes someone you know, prepare yourself so that you can be a real support. If you do, they will never forget you, I promise. It’s time these families and all families who experience tragic loss receive the respect and the support that they deserve.
Those who have survived the suicide of a loved one are forever changed by it. So here are some tips from a suicide survivor on how, when faced with death, any death, to provide supportive, meaningful, and respectful sympathy and to avoid ever being part of the uninvited, intrusive and disruptive gagglers. May you give the survivors your best, lest god-forbid, you ever find yourself on the receiving end of the sympathy line, there will be someone there to do the same for you.
1. Never ask someone how their loved one died.
This one is number 1 for a reason … because it’s probably my single-biggest pet peeve when it comes to death etiquette. One of the fastest ways to identify a suicide survivor is, when they encounter a person who has lost a loved one, they will never ask “What happened?” or “How did they die?”. Do you know why? Because after their precious loved one elected to end their own life, they were asked this question more times than they can count. And every time they were asked, they felt violated. They didn’t know what to say. If they caved to the pressure to give an honest answer, it meant they had to verbalize their loved ones tragic end over and over again. And if they didn’t give an honest answer, they felt like a fraud. Worse yet, if their mouth found the strength to form the words “suicide”, the reaction from the person who just inquired was just as painful. Be that reaction one of surprise or shock or embarrassment for asking … it is so awkward and uncomfortable that they never again want to be put into that position. Twenty years after my brother’s death, I am now very comfortable discussing his end. But the uncomfortable reaction that I continue to get from inquiring minds continues to divert my eyes away from theirs when I satisfy their morbid curiosity and answer “He committed suicide.” And so, a suicide survivor will never ask someone how their loved one died because they understand.
And the truth about this is, knowing the cause of one’s death has absolutely no bearing on your ability to provide support. The only reason you are asking is to satisfy your morbid curiosity. If they want you to know, they’re going to tell you. By asking them, you rip that choice away and you violate them.
Further more, if they answer “suicide” and you ask “How did they do it?”, you have taken that level of disrespect and violation to the umpteenth degree. If you have ever asked someone this question, I hope after reading this article, you never do it again. It is the single most insensitive and offensive question I have ever been asked and not only does it cause a grief-stricken person pain but you lose major respect in their eyes.
And it’s not just suicide survivors that hate this question, it’s anyone who has lost a loved one unexpectedly and tragically. It’s a natural tendency to wonder when a young person or a seemingly healthy person suddenly dies. But imagine for a minute that the person you love the most was kidnapped, raped and brutally murdered. Can you even begin to imagine how you would cope? The fact that the person you love so dearly is not only gone but that they suffered such a tragic end, it would have you utterly consumed by grief, a grief that will never completely leave you. Then imagine, that someone asks you “Oh, what happened?” How would you feel? Well if you can’t imagine how you’d feel, I’ll tell you. It’s a mixture of wanting to cry, wanting to scream and wanting to punch them in the face. And yet somehow our social pressures allow us to feel that our hands have been tied. ” I just told you that my child/my brother/my husband/my mother died! Are you so fucking insensitive that the only thing you can think to say is, ‘How?’ How about some fucking condolences and a casserole!” That’s how you feel. And if they continue on by asking the details, you literally feel like you’ve been violated, like someone took advantage of your vulnerable place and raped you of the intimate details of your loved ones passing.
Protect yourself too. You might be expecting to hear that they had cancer or were in a car accident. Save yourself from that awkward discovery and don’t be that person. When someone reveals that they’ve lost someone, say “I’m so sorry to hear that”, “How can I help?”, “Is there anything I can do?” or if it’s been a while “Wow, that must have been hard.”… and leave it there.
You can ask, “Were you prepared?” or “Was it sudden?” That information can help you to tailor your aid and response without asking for details. But be vigilant in reading their body language and if they signal feeling uncomfortable, back off and give them an out.
Go ahead and ask your intrusive questions to someone else, far removed from the grieving circle who might know … you are allowed to satisfy that curiosity and maybe you want to know so that you can provide more sensitive support. But don’t ask the people who are grieving, it only pushes the dagger further into their heart.
2. Mentioning a passed loved ones name is not only ok, it’s comforting.
Recalling a loved one won’t resurface the pain that you think it will … the pain never really goes away and they’ve never forgotten their loved one. Instead, it provides validity that they lived. Once we are gone, our legacy is the only thing that continues to live. You can help comfort surviving loved ones by helping to build and uphold that legacy and by affirming that you know that that person was important and that you remember them too. Further more, remembering their birthday or anniversary will add you to the “very special friend list”.
3. If you’re going to offer help-be specific, follow through and consider extending the offer throughout the first year.
Anyone who has grieved with any sort of support has certainly heard the words “Call me if you need anything.” How often do you think the grieving persons actually take people up on that offer? Not too often … The reason for that is that they don’t often know what that person’s limits are and what is an appropriate request. Instead, if you want to help, offer specifics: “Would you like me to coordinate a meal train?” “Would you like help compiling photos for the memory board?” “Could I help by taking the kids to school this month?” “Could I help with housework, grocery shopping, walking the dog, shuttling family members to and from the airport?”
Offering assistance in the house and making meals is a great way to help, as is sending flowers and checking in … but don’t forget them when the memorial services are over. One of the hardest things about death is the ‘quiet after the storm’ that I mentioned earlier. In the first week, the fridge is loaded with meals and the phone is always ringing …. which is great! But after a month or two or twenty … don’t forget, they are still grieving. Be a good friend and call, bring a meal by, offer them a day out … especially on the holidays, and around the anniversaries. People process grief at different rates and especially if the death is unexpected, people may not be ready to talk for almost a year. Be the person that’s still there in a year. Be the person who’s still there in twenty years.
4. Don’t look for a silver lining.
Ok that sounds harsh and a bit over generalized. But for the most part, when people have a loss, it’s not comforting to deduce anything positive unless it’s a mere “She’s no longer in pain”…and even that one can be tricky! When you are grieving, outsiders who are looking for a silver lining, often times because they don’t know what to say or they want to “fix”, can choose words that make you feel like your loss is being minimized. When you’ve lost a baby, you don’t want to hear, “You can get pregnant again.” That doesn’t bring back the baby you just lost. When you’ve lost a friend to drug or alcohol abuse, you don’t want to hear “It’s better this way.” You wish they had never been an addict, you wish they had gotten better. When your child is killed in a car accident you don’t want to hear “It’s going to be ok.” They are burying their child…it’s NOT okay! Don’t ever think that your loss is worse than someone else’s because you can’t possibly know until you’ve been there. You’d be shocked to know how many people feel that suicide isn’t as painful as another death because the person committing suicide made that choice. Ummm…hello…do you hear yourself? The person I love chose to leave me … do you have any idea just how fucked up that is for my head to process. And regardless of the cause of death, don’t ever tell a grieving person “It was God’s plan” -or- “It’s time to move on” unless you want to be punched in the face. Instead, often times the best thing you can say is “I am so sorry.”
You can’t make it better. You can’t make it go away. In the face of overwhelming tragedy, there isn’t a sliver lining. Don’t try to make one. Just be there to hold them up. Eventually, the sun will once again rise in their universe and they will remember the people who stood by them in their darkest hour. Superheros don’t really wear capes or throw lightning bolts. They look much more like the giant pillars that held the walls of ancient Roman architecture than they do the gladiators. And they don’t question or barge-in, they bake casseroles, they stop by, they pick up the phone, they remember.
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