The Moment I Hit My Wall of Grief

Have you ever been paralyzed by someone else’s grief, so much so that you didn’t know what to say or do? I thought I knew what it meant to support people who were grieving, until I came face to face with a parent who’d lost a child. 

I grew up in a small town and was fortunate not to lose any friends while I was really young. The funerals I had been to were for older people mainly. There would be celebrations of life, where we would tell stories and share in the memories of our loved ones. Death was a part of life, I had accepted that.

Fast forward twenty years and we’ve lost parents, long time friends, colleagues and extended family. My peace with death changed on a Sunday afternoon with a phone call telling me that the teenage daughter of a family we knew had passed away.

It would be the first time my own teenage daughter experienced death, we decided to go to the funeral together. She would learn how we honor those we’ve lost, I would learn that my entire perception of grief was about to be turned upside down.

While I waited my turn to offer condolences to her parents, I glimpsed at the smaller silhouette in the casket ahead of me. Instantly, I felt the air pulled from lungs and every cell in my body ached for them. She was a child. As much as I tried to understand, I would never know their pain.

I knew what I had wanted to say and had even rehearsed it in my head while I waited. When my turn came, I hit this wall of intense grief and I was paralyzed. Deep down I knew nothing I could say would ease their pain. I stumbled through some words of condolence as they stared at me, their faces tear stained and their spirits broken.

I drove home that day with tears streaming down my face, my soul gripped by this new form of pain. I was no longer at peace with death, no parent should bury a child. It wasn’t fair and I was angry at God.

Days later, I was still thinking about that moment when I had hit my wall of grief. I wished I had said more, done something more. Since I wasn’t close to the family personally, I decided that in a few months, after the initial shock had passed I would send them a card, that would be thoughtful. 

I never sent it. I talked myself out of it by saying it would be uncomfortable to send it now and would they really want to hear from me anyway? I shouldn’t disturb them, I should mind my own business. My own discomfort and helplessness towards their grief won and I felt shame.

I didn’t realize at the time that all they really needed was for people to show up. Not just on that day but in the weeks, months and years ahead. Consumed by their own grief, they wouldn’t ask for help out of fear of burdening others, they would feel alone.

In the months and years to come, they would grieve a second time. This time for all of the people they would lose after the death of their daughter. People who didn’t really want to leave them, they just wouldn’t know what to say or do either. Why is it so hard to just sit with someone in their grief?

I reflected on my own experiences with grief and what really made the biggest difference. As much as our family appreciated every bouquet of flowers or card that was delivered, it was the big pot of chilli or homemade soup that meant the most. 

I remember the food that was delivered continuously by people who had the courage to just show up. They took care of our necessities and this offered us the most precious gift of all, the time and space to just grieve.

They didn’t ask, they didn’t wonder if they would be intrusive or if we even liked soup. They just came.

It’s been a year since I didn’t show up. Another parent had put together a memory book to help the family through this difficult anniversary. They asked for people to contribute if they wanted. I sent pictures of special moments we were privileged to share with their daughter and I wrote to them, to make sure they knew just how much we cared and more importantly how much their daughter was loved.

What I know now is that having the courage to walk towards grief in order to offer genuine love, support and compassion to another human far outweighs the discomfort of feeling helpless against their pain.

It’s being ok with not being able to fix it for them that takes practice.

Don’t ever question whether or not they want you there, they do. If you find yourself in front of your own wall of grief, take the step and show up.