Policing the Grief Police

A couple weeks ago we considered the Grief Police. They’re the people who are more than willing to tell you how to grieve the death of your friend. In fact, they’re probably telling you that you’re making too big a deal out of it.

I asked what people want to hear when a friend dies. It’s not really that different than what anyone who’s grieving wants to hear: a simple “I’m sorry” or “I’m glad to listen if you want to talk about it.”  But those comments require a certain amount of empathy, basic human compassion. And frankly, not everyone is capable of that.

So, how to respond when someone says something stupid like “it’s not like they were family”? I suppose, if you’re like me, your first reaction is to want to smack them. It might even provoke a sudden burst of tears. But in talking to people and thinking back on the times I’ve grieved a friend, I discovered that the answer is really very simple.

If we are to expect respect from others, we must give voice to that respect ourselves. How can we expect others to understand the grief we feel for our friends if we don’t express it? That means we have two very simple things to do:

First, tell your friends you love them. Maybe you don’t feel comfortable saying the L word, but do it anyway. Tell them what a difference they made/make in your life. And tell them while they’re still here, so you don’t have to add a layer of guilt onto your grief when they die.

Second, tell others that you loved your friend. When someone is dismissive of your grief, just say “They were my friend and I loved them. Why wouldn’t I grieve?” If they’re stupid enough to persist with comparisons of those they deem more worthy of your grief, stop them with “I love a lot of people, and many of them are friends.”

The size of our family may be limited; our circle of friends is not. But the loss of one is still deeply felt. And deserves every tear we shed.

 

 

 

The Friend Grief Police

You know who they are, because they made you feel like this.

You tell them your friend died, and they probably said one of these things to you:

           

 “I know just how you feel. My dog died.’

 “Aren’t you over that yet?”

“You’re not crying, are you?”

“It’s not like your mother died or something.” 

“Well, they were overweight/smoked/drank/did drugs.”

Don’t you love people like that? Instead of just saying “I’m sorry”, they feel free to pass judgment – not just on how you grieve but that you grieve at all for your friend.

They are usually self-appointed, though at times will hide behind religious vestments to justify their opinions. It’s okay to be hurt and angry. They just won’t understand. Ten people in the same place at the same time will react ten different ways to any event. So it is with grief.

The grief we feel when a friend dies may take us by surprise with its intensity. We may feel guilt or regret or anger. We may feel comfort or torment in our memories. It’s when we want to share those feelings that we run into the Grief Police.

When I first started writing about grieving the death of a friend, the working title of the books was “It’s Not Like They’re Family”. That’s the response a lot of people hear when they tell someone a friend died.

What would you like to hear instead?

How about “I’m so sorry”? I mean a sincere “I’m so sorry” followed by “how can I help?”, rather than by a swift change of subject so everyone can feel happy again.

It’s so easy, isn’t it, to say the wrong thing, intentionally or otherwise? On a good day, I like to think that the Grief Police are well-meaning, but clueless. Most days, though, I just want to smack them.

So consider yourselves warned: you’re liable to meet the Grief Police when you share the news of a friend’s death.

I’ll share some thoughts on what to say in response and how to avoid joining the Grief Police in my next post. Feel free to add your own in the comments below.