I’ve just come from visiting one of my closest friends who lost her father. He lived a long, fulfilling life. He had a brilliant, loving family; had a fantastic relationship with his grandchildren, and slipped away into death without a fuss. While I was at my friend’s, another guest listed all the things the dead man had achieved and said there was no need for the family to cry. “You should be celebrating him!” It was neither the time nor the place, but I had things I wanted to say.
Now, I understand the sentiment of telling people who have lost a father in his 90s not to cry. I understand it but I vehemently disagree with it. The closest we come to living forever on earth is having a long life. Longevity is a blessing and all that, we know but it doesn’t stop death –when it does come, from being sad. Even if our loved ones lived to be 200 years old, no one would start merrymaking at the moment we are confronted with their deaths. So, I wish people would stop telling grieving families not to cry.
It’s a human, quite logical thing to cry when we are faced with the death of someone who meant a lot to us. All that love inside of you for the dead has got to come out somehow. My friend loved her father enormously, that love didn’t diminish because he was 93. It is a monumental thing to have to happen to you at whatever age, that a whole human being connected to you is no longer around. All you have left are memories. The last time you held them, the last time you spoke to them, the last time you heard their voice, the last time you saw them.
You can no longer speak of that person in the present tense, and there is absolutely no more future tense in your physical interactions with that person. It is huge. What is the right reaction to that amount of loss? The right reaction is however the person grieving reacts. Let them sob, let them cry, let them rant. If you want to help, find practical ways to do so.
On the International Day of Widows this year (June 24), a friend’s widow posted on Facebook that when she visits newly widowed women, she sits and allows the women to cry. She offers help where she thinks it might be needed. For example, rather than ask what she can do, she asks if the children need to be fetched from school, she asks if the generator needs fuel, she asks if the widow is on life-saving medication and reminds them to take it. And because she is a lawyer, she asks if there are documents that need to be secured.
You know how families can sometimes be with widows in Naija. I wish I could find a link to her post and share it because that was such a thoughtful, empathetic, useful post for anyone confronted with the unfortunate task of having to console mourning families, especially young widows immediately after a loss.
It doesn’t matter whether the person you are condoling is mourning an old parent or their spouse, your presence ought to be both useful and comforting. Pray with/for them if you’re the praying kind. Tell them you are praying for their deceased family member (if they are the praying sort). Do not ask “What can I do?” When people are just processing loss, especially a recent one, they may not be in the right frame of mind to know what they want, but they (and those around them) can give answers to pointed questions such as “Has anyone gone to get the children from school?” “Have you had your medication?” Do not tell them they’ll get over it. Do not remind them of others who’ve had worse fates (“X’s mother died when she was only 30, at least your mother lived to be 99,” “Your husband saw your daughter enter university, my son’s father died when he was in kindergarten”). It’s not a competition. I know it is human to want to offer support, to say the right things, but be mindful of what you say.
If there’s any guideline to dealing with those who have just lost a loved one, it is this: be there for them as much as you can, and in ways that are helpful to them. Let them know that you are thinking of them. And if they want to cry, do not tell them not to.