The funerals in Newtown prompt me today to turn from the cause of safer teen driving to what neighbors and communities can say and do to comfort bereaved parents. I draw here upon the 2,500 condolence messages that I received and the numerous acts of kindness of which I was the beneficiary in the months after my son’s death in 2006.
As noted elsewhere on this blog, I have written a memoir, His Father Still, now being considered by publishers, about my reconsideration of my son’s life and my ongoing obligations as a parent during the year after his passing. Part of my manuscript specifically considers which of those messages — handwritten, oral, and electronic — and outreach provided some solace. Though I do not know any of the Newtown families personally, as I watched and read during the past four days, it occurred to me that a subject on the minds of many, and on which I might offer something, is how to help parents deal with a catastrophe. My comments are based on a teen driver fatality, but apply generally, I think, to parents and families who have lost a child.
The first step is to recognize and accept that the despair and shock that these parents are experiencing is probably, for now, impenetrable. The starting point for comforting parents in the aftermath, unfortunately, is the reality that for weeks if not months, they will likely be inconsolable. They are currently taking the measure of their loss, trying to find a hook to arrest the sensation of falling, seeking the bottom. Suggestions or even pleas that they turn their attention to healing will be misplaced and ineffective. It will take time for them to stabilize, and only then can anything resembling healing begin.
As to actual words of condolence, the critical lesson is to send positive remembrances, not assessments or reminders of the magnitude of the loss. The saying is “Sympathize with my strength, not my weakness.” The best condolence is a happy recollection of the child who has passed away, with one previously unknown to the parent being the very best. On the other hand, condolences that say, in words or effect, “You have suffered life’s greatest loss” miss the mark. Similarly, “I can’t imagine your pain” will translate as “This is too difficult for me to think about” and so will not help. Few if any can realistically say, “I know what you are going through,” so avoid that claim. Better to just compliment the child now gone and the parent’s loving care. This is the best path to giving the parent at least a momentary lift.
When trying to comfort a bereaved parent , it’s important to consider degrees of separation and to be wary of electronic communication. Mart Twain famously said, “Where a blood relation sobs, an intimate friend should choke up, and acquaintance should sigh, and a stranger should merely fumble with his handkerchief.” Don’t sigh when you should sob, and don’t send an email when your outreach should be in person or handwritten. Condolence on a Facebook Wall or in a Tweet is risky. Emails and texts present as avoidance of face-to-face contact. Facebook posts are a very public display of what probably should be intensely private; they are communications not with the parent in pain but with the page’s audience, which misdirects and therefore dilutes the message. In addition, for those in grief, time slows down, if only because their fondest wish is to turn back the clock. Electronic messages, however, convey multi-tasking where individual, focused, thoughtful, heartfelt contemplation is essential. And needless to say (hopefully), the abbreviations, lack of grammar, and pervasive flippancy of emails and texts have no place in communicating sympathy.
Otherwise, consider these realities and opportunities that are always present in conveying sympathy: A parent’s loss may be an opportunity to repair a frayed relationship. Prompt sympathy conveys real concern, while delay is perceived as you’re being too busy to attend to what counts most. If your relationship is close enough that condolence should not be a one-off event, mark your calendar with the birthdays and anniversaries of the child and the parent, and resolve to follow up then.
If words are just not your comfort zone, don’t neglect what I came to call condolence-by-casserole. Those in shock and burdened by sorrow need to be relieved of life’s most laborious chores, such as cooking, cleaning, shopping, errands, repairs.
Finally: listen. Most people in pain actually want to talk, even if they give a contrary impression Draw them out. Ask how they are doing and, within reason, don’t take no or evasion as an answer.
Two Sundays ago, December 9th, The Compassionate Friends, the worldwide organization for parents who have lost a child, held its annual candle lighting ceremony, the world’s largest such event. As we have done for several years, we lit a candle for our son and all other children who have died, and we received messages from friends and family who had done the same. When I heard about Newtown, just days after this event, I immediately thought about the movie Forrest Gump, the scene where Forrest’s girlfriend Jenny confronts the dilapidated home where she was raised by a physically abusive father. She tries desperately to vent her anger by picking up rocks and hurling them at the house, until she collapses, realizing that she is accomplishing nothing. Tom Hanks observes, “Sometimes, there just aren’t enough rocks.” What popped into my head on Friday was, “Sometimes, there just aren’t enough candles.” We may never have enough candles for Newtown, so in this tragedy we need to look for opportunities. Among them is reflecting on how best to comfort parents who are recoiling, with words that may eventually steady them, help them find their footing, and shine a light that illuminates a path forward.
