by Nancy Guthrie | posted in Grief and Loss keywords Grief and Loss, Grief, Loss, know, someone, Grieving?, Worst, Thing, to, say, Nothing

On her second day of life, we learned that our precious daughter, Hope, would be with us for only a short time due to a metabolic disorder. I remember thinking, even then, that I’d have to give people a lot of grace, as some people would say the wrong thing—something hurtful. But that has rarely been the case. Most who have been courageous and kind enough to express their sorrow for us have done so beautifully —even if all they had to say was, “I don’t really know what to say.” That is the first of many lessons we’re learning about what to say and what not to say to those who are hurting. Say something…even if it is, “I don’t really know what to say.”


TWO WEEKS BEFORE HOPE died, I was talking to a woman whose child had died from a heart defect at nine months of age. “The hardest thing for me was when people didn’t say anything to me,” she said with emotion. “I wanted to say, ‘how could you add to my pain by ignoring it?’” My husband discovered exactly how she felt when he went into the office for the first time after Hope’s death. He had a meeting with someone from outside the company—someone who should have known she had died. He came into my husband’s office talking a mile a minute, but said nothing about our loss. It was agonizing. I’m trying not to judge too harshly. Because I’m sure I’ve done the same thing. I know there have been times I’ve avoided hurting people, afraid to “bring it up” or afraid I would say the wrong thing. I will never do that again—but I’m sure I’ve done it more times than I would want to admit. I can think of many times when I finally got to the store and bought the perfect card which slowly became dog-eared on my dresser and went unsent. As time went by, I didn’t send it because I was embarrassed that it had taken so long. I guess I was hoping that the person who was hurting wouldn’t notice that they hadn’t heard from me. But now I’ve learned that every person’s effort—no matter how small—to acknowledge my loss is significant and remembered. Write a note…even if you haven’t found the “perfect” card.


AFTER WE HAD HOPE, I WENT out and bought a packet of blank cards with beautiful pictures so I’ll have cards on hand when I need them. I’ve learned that it doesn’t matter if the card has the perfect picture or sentiment on it. What matters is what is written and that it gets sent, no matter how much time it takes. In fact, to be truthful (and card- makers will hate me for this!), I barely read what is printed on the card, but I soak in every word that is written personally and often go back and re-read them. My husband and I had a daily ritual of reading through the cards we received and appreciating the kindness of people who shared our sorrow. But all too soon the cards stop coming, and it is natural for hurting people like us to wonder if others are still thinking of us and our loss. So when you’re buying cards, don’t just buy one for today. Buy one for three months from now, six months from now, a year from now, to let me know her inability to suck or swallow. She told David, “This may sound trivial, but recently my cat was really sick and I had to feed her with a tube, so I kind of know what you’re going through.” It was all David could do to keep from saying, “You know what, that does sound trivial.” I’m not sure why, but we have this tendency to want to compare pain. This is harder than that…this is easier than that…I think I’m figuring out that you can’t really compare pain. It all just hurts. And losing someone you love—no matter how, no matter when—is painful—suffocatingly painful. So… Share how you can relate to my pain…but don’t compare my pain.


WE HAVE A FRIEND WHO WAS recently diagnosed with breast cancer, and in the days following the dreadful diagnosis, many people were anxious to tell her the stories of people they know who have faced breast cancer. There is just one problem—the women in the stories all died and the story-tellers were so excited to relate to her how happy the cancer victim’s husbands were with their new wives! That didn’t help. It is often our first response to tell stories about other people who have faced similar losses, but, to be honest, they are really not comforting when you are hurting. Telling me those stories make me feel like you want me to take on that person’s pain too. I’ve got enough hurt of my own. It is helpful for me to remember that I am not the only person in the world who is hurting, but sometimes I feel like I don’t have any more room you haven’t forgotten. Show you haven’t forgotten… even if it has been months, or years.


I WAS BROUGHT TO TEARS ONE day with the simple sentiment written on one card I received. It simply said, “We will never forget your precious daughter, Hope.” That’s what I want! I don’t want you to forget her! So find a way to show me you have not forgotten. I talked recently with an acquaintance who lost her 11-month-old daughter about nine years ago. She told me how much it means to her when people call her, send her a card or send flowers on the anniversary of her daughter’s death or on her daughter’s birthday. She has more children now, and life has gone on, but she still misses Emily. Those friends who overcome the awkwardness to show they have not forgotten give her a priceless gift of compassion and friendship. I think some people don’t want to show they are thinking about my loss because they don’t want to “upset me.” Don’t worry about crying in front of me or be afraid you will make me cry! Your tears tell me you care. And my tears tell you that you’ve touched me in a meaningful place—and I will never forget your willingness to share my grief. In fact, it is those who shed their tears with me that show me we are not alone. I feel like we are carrying this enormous load of sorrow and when someone sheds their tears with me it is like they are taking a bucket full of sadness and carrying it for me. It is, perhaps, the most meaningful thing you can do for me. So, don’t be afraid to make me cry…or to cry with me.


PEOPLE WANT US TO KNOW they can relate to our pain. And usually that is a good thing. That’s what the girl at the company Christmas party was trying to do. At that point we were feeding Hope with a tube because of inside of me right now for other people’s pain. Just because you know someone who has experienced something similar, don’t feel like you have to tell me about it. Give me time. Don’t tell me a story of someone else’s loss or pain…it probably won’t help.


PEOPLE WANT TO OFFER SOMEthing of substance when someone dies, something hopeful. And the truth of the Scripture is hopeful. But I don’t want to be instructed, I want to be encouraged. When I tell people how deeply I am hurting and missing Hope, some want to immediately remind me that she is in such a better place. I need to be reminded of that, but do it carefully. Sometimes it feels like those reminders are telling me that I shouldn’t hurt as much as I do or that I shouldn’t miss her. Would you please surrender to the fact that there is nothing you can say that will fix me or make this loss okay? Perhaps that will take the pressure off of you and off of me too. So, please…Don’t preach at me…I know the truth, and it still hurts. Walking through the valley of the shadow of death, we have learned a great deal. If nothing else, we will emerge much more compassionate people. You see, we are so much more aware of other people’s pain now. And so we are better equipped to share their sorrow, and to show them we care.


I know one thing for sure—never again will I say nothing—even when I don’t know what to say. walking through the valley of the shadow of death, we have learned a great deal if nothing else, we will emerge much more compassionate people.