Day of the Dead and a Gas Card

One of my friends lost her husband to cancer yesterday. And by “friends”, I mean a Facebook friend. And by that, I mean that I don’t know them at all. I want to offer words of support and encouragement but I’m not sure what to say. I am less familiar with her circumstances and more familiar with dying. Working hospice and having an NDE will change how you look at death.

We have these platitudes that society has indoctrinated us with. “I’m sorry for your loss.” is the conventional reply. There are also variations created with a “very”, a “so”, and the occasional “so terribly”. The focus is on loss… On the ending. And if you know me, you know this is not my stance.

I go to the positive. My response is usually, “I’m sorry for your loss but I celebrate Heaven’s gain.” I would encourage you to think about the “but” clause and making up one of your own. I’m sorry for your loss but…wow, could they <an attribute that sticks out for you>.

It addressed a couple of things.

It shows forethought — you aren’t just mimicking the social convention. I understand why some people do it. They don’t want to think about their own mortality. Or they genuinely don’t know what to say.

It acknowledges that this moment represents both an ending and a beginning. In my mind, it represents a return from a sabbatical on Earth.

I have the dubious distinction of turning off life support on both parents. I also have my hospice experience. I will now share some thoughts with you that I have learned that the grieving will not tell you.

“How are you?” is an attempt to show concern but I have to lie. There are 10 people behind you that I have to keep it together for so don’t invite me to break down in front of you.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” After you have heard this a thousand times, you become numb. I was in line of sight of the spouse and time and time again, it was the same exchange. On one occasion, the spouse thanked them for their condolences, hugged them, and then they made eye contact with me. They gave me a surreptitious and exaggerated eye roll.

Let’s just all agree that:

• the surviving partner is exhausted both physically and emotionally
• they are being held together by a force of Will that few have ever needed to summon
• they have a thousand things to do and they will not delegate them to you at that moment
• saying “I’m sorry for your loss” has little emotional support attached to it after the first 10 times you hear it
• the surviving partner is not there to offer YOU support

And, last but not least, please stop presuming to bring food or flowers. At least ask. The surviving partner knows that there needs to be food and will have coordinated it ahead of time. Then, several people decide to show their concern with a 3 ft wide party platter. So much food gets thrown away because the refrigerator is not from the world of Harry Potter. It is finite in its capacity.

Same too with flowers. Yes, the thought is appreciated but the logistics are a PITA. They have to make it from the showing, to the service, to the site. The last thing anyone needs at that point is more logistical planning.

I cannot overstate the benefit of a gift card. You are conveying your concern but you aren’t creating additional logistics. And there’s only so many fruit bouquets one can eat. And the real benefit comes about a month later when the reality hits.

Everyone has paid their respects and returned to the comic opera that is their life. And that’s when the force of Will finally breaks. If you have been there, you know. The logistics are over. People have come and gone. Bills have been re-titled and paid. The dark night of the soul has arrived… as it should.

Mine happened as I noticed my dad’s shoes in the closet. If only there was one more mile he could have had in those shoes so we could walk it together. We were at loggerheads my entire childhood but had become such good friends in adulthood. Next thing I remember was lying on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably, and hugging his well-worn turf cleats. The next thing? Laughter. Dad had not been anywhere near turf in twenty years! But, by god, he wore them anyway.

It’s after the event, in that deafening quiet, that the support should exist. After everyone has gone home… everyone. A gas or grocery card is nice because you need those things and in that quiet moment you can have the opportunity to experience the gratitude from which Grace springs. When your concern surfaces months after the event, in that quiet, it can have profound healing effects.