How to Show Up when the Worst Happens: Part I
what to do and say when anyone in your orbit gets hit by acute tragedy
The best in people emerges when the worst drops. After our daughter Bailey died, we were (and still are) deeply moved by the abundance of love and support from friends and strangers alike. It’s been nine months since Bailey’s death, and though it still feels like yesterday, it also feels like there were nine years of living, of perspective, of radical change crammed into the last nine months.
Over the past few months, I’ve read memoirs, essays, and articles on loss and mourning, including a re-read of Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking. After the sudden death of her husband, John Dunne, Didion analyzed our contemporary American paralysis around loss and mourning. She quoted a passage from Emily Post’s Etiquette in Society, in Business, in Politics, and at Home on how to engage with the bereaved, down to specific details: what food to serve and how to behave. Post wrote her first edition in 1922, four years after the Influenza pandemic decimated an estimated 50 million people worldwide, where the young died alongside the old, where parents survived their children, where tragedy clung to almost every family on the globe.
Despite the COVID-19 pandemic, we avoid thinking about loss and anguish, especially when each new headline reminds us that the world keeps spinning off its axis. We’d much rather watch flashback Soul Train dance videos and Instagram posts of frolicking baby burros in a field or learn another way to roast a chicken instead of thinking about the tough stuff. It’s a hardwired and understandable response that keeps us functioning day to day. Unfortunately, there is no inoculation against heartbreak, so knowing how to show up when life falls apart for others will help your community—and you if your circumstances steer off the skids. As I pushed through these months of mourning, I realized how much guidance we need around the bereaved. Until the worst happened to us, I flailed myself trying to say or do the right thing. Protocols and etiquette change with time, but encountering loss is a constant. We need pointers.
It’s taken time to write this, to get the tenor and tone right. I never, ever want people to feel that showing up in some way is wrong. Because showing up is always the right thing to do. And now that the death rate among the young is escalating, we need specific guidance more than ever. So, with apologies to Mrs. Post and Miss Manners for muscling in, I am penning the first of two essays of my own guidelines. With no mention of how to place the silverware.
What to Do When Seeing the Bereaved in Person for the First Time
What works: Small talk is agonizing for the bereaved, so make the first conversational gambit. A simple “I’m so sorry” is enough. If a hug seems right, go there, but only if the mourner seems receptive. You need to be attentive to cues and know when to shift into a general conversation or take your leave. One neighborhood friend came up to me at a small gathering and said. “Oh, Isa, I’m so sorry. I really liked your kid, and I don’t like a lot of people,” and then followed with “Wanna beer? I sure do.” His candor was so disarming that I laughed, and so did he. We needed that laugh.
What to Avoid:
“How are you?” “There are no words.” “What can I do? “ As well-meaning as these questions may sound, responding to them creates work for the bereaved because they are anything but fine and have no idea what to tell you to do.
Don’t stand silently with a long face, whimpering, or weeping uncontrollably. In the case of losing a child, the bereaved are well aware they represent the worst that can happen to a family and already feel an insane amount of grief, shame, guilt, and responsibility for the loss, so it’s best not to amplify these emotions—and make them feel responsible for your emotions.
If you cannot stay calm, don’t approach. The first public event I attended after Bailey died was a Barmitzvah. It took a lot of willpower to get me out the door, but our love for this family runs deep, and we went determined to keep a low profile. One woman flung herself on me, weeping uncontrollably, and instead of speaking, wagged her head back and forth like a kabuki performer. It took every ounce of discipline to hold myself upright. Her husband had to peel her away, and I wanted to disappear. I was touched by the depth of her feelings but horrified because I was there to celebrate a young man’s rite of passage, not to draw attention to myself. I fled to a bathroom stall to melt down, pulled myself together, and left shortly thereafter. This incident still keeps me declining invitations. If you think you might puddle in front of the bereaved, just wave from a distance, nod, and write a note.
At the Memorial Service and Reception
What works:
The bereaved are strung out on adrenaline and emotion. So say a quick hello, offer love, and move on to let others approach.
Dress respectfully.
Turn off your phone.
Please sign the guest book. To better accommodate the large numbers at Bailey’s service, my daughter, husband, and I separated to greet people, so I saw only a fraction of the attendees. I appreciated it when people signed the guest book with care.
Memory loss and trauma go hand in hand. Always re-introduce yourself if you are not close to the bereaved or haven’t seen them for a long time.
What to avoid:
Monopolizing the bereaved Let other people pay their respects, and if someone else is talking, don’t hover like a drone while you wait your turn.
The bereaved may look calm and collected but are feeling quite the opposite. Do not expect them to start or carry the conversation.
Avoid making comments on the bereaved’s appearance — like “you look exhausted” or “ you are so thin.”
Don’t assume the bereaved remembers any anecdote. They are on autopilot, so this is not the time to say, “Remember that time from bingo night…?”
Write it Down
What works:
Handwritten notes are most welcome. If you don’t know what to say, just keep it short and enclose a poem or a quote. If you have a (positive) memory of the deceased, share it.
If you cannot track down the bereaved's address, email is fine. In either case, don’t expect a response, if any, for some time.
I am still getting to nearly a thousand messages from friends and well-meaning people in my community and beyond. I will probably not get to them all. Many notes moved me to tears, so responding to them takes a calm moment and time. But trust me, the bereaved does need the love even if you feel like your missive is going into the ether.
It’s never too late to pen a note.
What to avoid:
Condolence texting, if possible. In the first month, I got hundreds of texts. Texts are next to impossible to respond to since the order gets rearranged when you do write back. Then you scroll endlessly for the next one in the texting queue. In the early days after Bailey’s death, I didn’t keep my phone handy and lost track of the text deluge. At least you can put emails in a folder to review and revisit at a later date. Also, if you must text, please sign off with your first and last name in case you are not in the bereaved’s database.
Some texts were short story length. If you want to write an epistle, get an address or an email.
Also, a string of heart emojis in place of a message might be colorful, but best to resist.
Social media messaging should be a last resort. The bereaved are not looking at the happy, curated lives of others. Try to source an email or address.
Just Do It
What works: If you want to do more, take the initiative.
If there’s a memorial fund, any gift, no matter the size, is always welcome. Or make a donation in honor of the deceased.
If giving to a fund doesn’t appeal, bring food. If there’s a meal train, join it. Our friends Stephanie and Reenie organized meal deliveries, and those meals not only helped me and my daughter gain some weight back but also provided extra food for visitors. The last thing you want to do is cook. If you are not local or don’t cook, go to Goldbelly, Spoonful of Comfort, or any one of the excellent companies that send comfort food. You can also volunteer to help in other ways. After the service, friends of Bailey’s delivered the flowers to our local hospital. Our friend Keri handled the details of the post-service gathering we had for out-of-towners. Those friends were indispensable and were all hands on deck.
Finally, if you don’t know where to turn or need more information, there is always a chief coordinator in these scenarios, so find him or her for guidance, not the bereaved.
What to avoid: Mourning is a full-time job, and mourning a child shuts down parts of your brain and launches you into survival mode, rather like a backup solar battery providing baseline power. The mourner needs to conserve energy, is tethered to grief and cannot multitask, so planning anything other than emptying the dishwasher is daunting.
Don’t use the passive route and say, “Call me if you need me.” The bereaved will not want to impose and will not call — that takes too much effort.
The same goes for “I’d love to see you.” Instead, take the lead and say, “ I’d love to take a walk with you when you are ready. If I don’t hear back, I understand. I will try again later.” Always offer an out and always suggest a day and time. Don’t shift decision-making onto the bereaved.
All You Do Is Talk, Talk
What works:
Gossip thrives in all communities, especially small ones like ours. Chatter is inevitable, especially when the bereaved is keeping a low profile. But keep your quest for information positive and urge others to follow suit.
I use writing on Substack as an emotional divining rod and as a way to keep people informed. If you want news, find out where to get it, like Caring Bridge. That way, you can get accurate updates.
What to avoid:
Speculative gossip. Shortly after Bailey’s service, a friend shared that a soul was gossiping and inserting themselves into our narrative. That transgression laid me low. Ultimately, I understood that this pettiness didn’t reflect poorly on Bailey, just on the person energized by our tragedy. Hearing negative gossip hurts. Don’t go there.
Do not offer unsolicited advice unless you are very close to the bereaved.
Beyond Compare
What works: A simple “I think about you and your family” is enough. Resist bringing the loss back to your experience.
What to avoid: Do not compare your loss with the bereaved’s unless it’s a truly parallel one. Losing a child that you willed into this world and nurtured with every fiber of your being puts you on top of the hierarchy of grief, a distinction no one relishes. Insisting you know what the bereaved is going through by offering a loss that is not commensurate only serves to further isolate the mourner.
Showing up takes time and is a gift. Have faith that the bereaved know this and are beyond grateful. So thank you to all who’ve shown up for us in person and on this platform.
Since this business of mourning is a long, long road, stay tuned for part II of How to Show Up When the Worst Happens.
Resources
Books
Joan Didion’s Year of Magical Thinking
Comfort: A Journey Through Grief Ann Hood
Fi Alexandra Fuller
Lost & Found Kathryn Shulz
Here After Amy Lin
When Breath Becomes Air Paul Kalanithi
Between Two Kingdoms Suleika Jaouad
The Grieving Brain Mary Frances O’Connor
Bearing the Unbearable Joanne Cacciatore
Podcasts
Anderson Cooper’s All There Is
Substack
Articles
The author and journalist Alisyn Camerota penned an excellent how-to essay on responding to mourners.
If you have discovered additional resources, please share them in the comments!
Saying this might be one of the things to avoid. And I’ll say it anyway, willing to risk needing to ask forgiveness.
Thank you for your courage.
And for believing in the good work of grieving, fully and fabulously the loss of your believed Bai.
Nine months.
The poignancy of that amount of time.
Imagine a mother who lost a child holding space and creating form for others so that they might gain skills to be more human and humane when encountering someone deep in grief. This gift from your heart touched my heart, and I thank you.