My attitude on platitudes

Grief, I have found, brings out the good in so many people. Warm meals, lingering hugs, and a sense of belonging from those who love you most help, even in the tiniest ways, to comfort me. Grief also brings out well-worn (and most always well intended) platitudes that really don’t help at all. So in my grief I am learning all things I shouldn’t say to someone else who is grieving.

Joe and I actually went through this when he was first diagnosed with cancer back in 2017. We had so many wonderful people reach out, send money, bring food, dog sit, and pray. It was honestly overwhelming and oh so beautiful. But we also had those people who don’t handle sickness well. Those people who don’t know what to do or what to say. And there are always “surface” people who comment on posts or say in passing “if you need anything”, never to be seen or heard from again. I learned during Joe’s cancer to try to do for others rather than say you’ll do.

But grief. This is different. So this post isn’t really about my grief. But rather a reminder to myself for the days and years ahead when others around me will be walking through their own grief. A self-help so to speak. What not to do or say to someone who is grieving. I won’t tell people to call me if they need anything. I will show up on their doorstep with soup or wine, boxes of Kleenex and all the time in the world. I won’t say how strong they are, but rather how inspiring their strength is. You see, there are no choices in this situation. You will be strong and you will fall apart, sometimes at the same time. I won’t tell people their loved one is in a better place. Despite your religious beliefs the only place that makes sense, especially in the early days of grief, is to have them here. Yes, even if they were suffering, even if you were estranged, even if they were old. I’ll never suggest they will find love again. Even though they might, to hear that and imagine you could ever feel such love again is nearly impossible. And I will never say “you’ll get over this with time”, because I know I will never, ever get over my Joe. I just have to learn how to live without him.

I am so fortunate, and so grateful, to have people surrounding me that don’t offer empty platitudes. I’m given grace every day, allowed to grieve in my own way, and I know who will show up with soup or wine (if I drank wine), and all the time in the world.