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• What To Say & What Not to Say

By Connie Kennermer

Things that help…

1. Saying you are sorry for my loss.
2. Hugs. And more hugs.
3. Very few words.
4. Cards, phone messages and e-mails that don’t require a quick response — or any response. 
5. Meals, but only when I need them. The fridge fills up fast when the appetite fades.
6. Giving me generous latitude. My grief has no timetable; its steps are not sequential. I seldom know when grief will “take me out.”
7. Expressing total and painful confusion over what happened. Knowing that you are perplexed makes me feel a little more sane.
8. Cards or notes months after. It’s when your life goes back to “normal” that I feel alone and my loss forgotten.
9. Say his name often. Out loud. Remind me how much you feel the loss.
10. Help me not forget him. Remind me of funny things he said or how witty and gifted he was.

Things that don’t help…

1. Saying that you understand. You may care but you don’t understand, unless you have experienced a similar loss.
2. Don’t avoid me because you don’t know what to say. I already feel peculiar and “distinct”. Please make eye contact; if I don’t want to talk, you will know it.
3. Don’t give me your summation of why this happened. Even if your thoughts have merit, I can’t hear them yet. I am still trying to wrap my mind around this.
4. Don’t give me pat answers of any kind, especially at the beginning. They feel like a slap in the face—like proverbs that work in other people’s lives, not mine.
5. Be sensitive in talking about your children. Don’t mention them for a while. I can’t relate, and that leaves a pit in my stomach.
6. Don’t tell me how lucky I am to have other children. My loss would feel just as enormous.
7. Don’t talk too much. My pain has damaged my hearing.
8. Don’t rush me. This will take as long as it needs to take. Just walk by my side, as your friend.
9. Don’t expect me to “get over it.” I will never get over it.
10. Don’t ask me how I am. Ask me how I am today. I will try to answer honestly, if you have
    the time to hear me.
11. Don’t tell me I will recover; that time will fill the hole my son’s loss left. I have no intention
    of recovering like my loss was an illness.

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