My first experience with Death (yes, I capitalize it) was when I was 6 years old. My best friend’s Dad was dying of lung cancer. He was hidden away in his bedroom all day long, and we were taught to go quietly in the hallway whenever we passed by. I would hear him cough constantly, and, although I didn’t understand what was happening, it would scare me to see how it frightened the adults. One day he finally took his last rattling breath, and Cindy, my best friend, was devastated. I felt her sadness and went to my Dad in tears. He sat me down on his knee and in a very matter-of-fact manner told me “everybody has to die sometime.” This was a revelation to me, and I became pretty obsessed with thinking about Death afterwards.
Four years later, in the span of 6 months, my Dad would loose both his Father to Emphysema and his only brother to a bullet. I never saw him grieve. Only recently did he tell me how hard it was for him to keep going at that time. We were very poor, and he was working 3-4 jobs at a time, so it is no wonder that I didn’t witness any grief. I still felt the loss though, since it was a terrifying prospect that people could die so young. Losing my 28 year old Uncle Tommy gave me a new awareness of Death. The world was full of chaos. Death could strike at any moment. Appreciate people, because tomorrow they might be gone forever and you won’t have the chance. Don’t let a day go by if there is something that needs to be resolved. If you need to apologize for something, do it today.
In the years that followed, I would go on to experience the loss of my maternal (and well-loved) Great-Grandmother, maternal (and cherished) Grandfather, my paternal Grandmother, and then Death decided to claim my own son Yogi on December 11, 1995. This experience changed my life, but this is another blog for another time. I will say now though that by surviving the loss of my only child, I learned that I can survive anything.
This revelation would be tested however, in February of 2004, when Lyx, my best friend, died of pancreatic cancer. We were like family, and much closer than a lot of sisters. We talked every day for 7 years, and I even took on the last name of her son. (Again, this is another blog for another time…) Both the experience of “losing” Yogi and Lyx taught me so much about Death, as well as Life. I renewed the promise I made myself back in ‘95 that if I made it out alive, I would share my experiences with others so that people could have a greater sensitivity and understanding about the process, even if they didn’t have a lot of personal experience with it themselves. So, here is a bit of what I learned.
This statement is the number one boo-boo when a friend has experienced a loss: “I know how you feel.” This simple, well-meaning sentence almost made me go postal during the times I was grieving. Most people had no idea how I felt, but they thought that by saying they did, they sounded empathetic. In retrospect I know they were just trying to reach out, but at the time… There is only one exception to this rule. If you actually have experienced the same kind of loss. Like, if your mother died when you were a kid, and so did your friend’s mother, then, sure, go ahead and use it, but you should still qualify why you’re saying it, or the grieving friend will probably assume you are in the “grief dummy” category.
Here’s what you CAN say: “I really feel for you, this must be really hard.” Or, something like “I’m here for you, if there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know.” Or, the classic “I’m sorry for your loss.” Many people want to try to make the situation better, and that’s understandable and noble, but Death is not something that can be made “better.” It can only be worked with creatively. What you’re looking for here is support, not a band-aid. Simply letting them know you care, and then letting them know you are available for whatever they may need is just about all you can do in this situation
Here’s another thing NOT to do when someone is dying: push them (or their caregiver) to have a visit. I remember when I was care taking for Lyx. She knew she was going to exit quickly, and she was a very popular lady, so she realized early on that she was going to have to prioritize who she wanted to see since she was told she only had about one month to left to live. She only had a certain amount of energy, after all, since she was quite ill, and most of that time she spent with only her closest friends and her family. Most of the people in the community were very respectful and understanding about not being able to see her, but there were a couple who made things very hard for both of us.
This can be a challenging concept for people, but the fact of the matter is, there may be friends who the dying person does not wish to see, and the best thing these friends can do, if they are indeed friends, is to gracefully accept the situation and not try to force a visit. It may seem unfair, and there may be unfinished business you want to resolve with them, but now is not the time. Accept that it is too late, vow to cherish your friends better in the future, and then move on in your own way. There may be reasons that only the dying person can understand why they don’t wish to see certain friends (like maybe the energy of a certain person is quite intense, and they don’t feel like they can handle it in the hypersensitive state they are in) that may be impossible to understand. I know this will sound crass, but, really, it’s too bad. Get over it. It seems harsh, and in a way it is, but this is their wish, and you simply must accept it graciously. This is not your Death, it is not your show. Don’t grandstand or you will only make matters worse. Try not to take it personally. Send a letter.
At the time, I was in the unfortunate position of being the barer of bad news once Lyx got too ill to speak, and I became the center of some pretty harsh criticism and gossip. I was viewed as being “the Gate Keeper” and I was accused of making these decisions myself, and of hoarding her for myself, which was not only pretty absurd, but particularly painful because I was simply carrying out her wishes. I was grieving myself, of course, and these people made that process exponentially harder. It just so happened that Lyx had asked me to not leave her side once she realized she was dying, and I lived up to the promise to her that I wouldn’t. It took more than a couple years for these friends to finally come around and “forgive me,” though I still am not sure what I was being forgiven for… I understand that it was a painful situation, and perhaps blaming me helped them to not have to accept the reality that their friend didn’t want to see them, for whatever reason. Death can be harsh. Death honors no rules of etiquette or kindness. Death is lawless. The ultimate pirate.
What you CAN do when a friend is dying: Offer to bring a meal (though not as a way to get in the door) and even offer to leave it outside the door. The senses of people who are dying can be heightened greatly, and chaos can be very painful, and even intolerable. You can ask to see them, but don’t push if the answer is no. You can offer a service like cleaning, or a natural healing method like massage for the dying person and also the caregivers. Offer to set up and organize a meal wheel within the community, or organize a fund raiser if it’s needed. Offer to send out an email with updates of how the person is doing on a daily basis. (This will help the caregiver from having to answer the same questions on the phone all day long when s/he could be care giving.) Send a card. Write a song. Paint a painting.
Here is another classic thing not to say, in the case of a friend losing a child: “You can always have another one,” or “Well, at least you still have other kids.” It may even sound incredible to some of you, but many people actually do say this. They think they’re giving you hope and helping you to see the light at the end of the tunnel that things aren’t that bad. Well, guess what, they are that bad. The loss of a child is considered to be one of the worst (if not the worst) kind of loss a person can experience. Parents are not supposed to outlive their offspring, so most aren’t prepared for it, and the sense of injustice can be overwhelming. The fact that they can have other kids, or that they already do have other kids, does not change anything. It doesn’t matter if that person can have 50 kids, THAT child will be missed. Every child is unique, they’re not interchangeable like building blocks or tinker toys.
And, don’t insist on asking excessive questions as to how the child died, or assume that since the child was not born in a hospital it would’ve gone differently. Assume that the parents either have explored every possible question, or that if they haven’t, they don’t wish to. Leave it alone. Kids die in hospitals every day, and other kids are “saved” in hospitals and later turn out to have multiple health problems that they have to live with. Who is to say what would have been? You? Probably not. It is remarkable how many people have asked me how Yogi died, and when I tell them there was no apparent reason, they are incredulous and ask if I did an autopsy, etc., They tell me “Well, I would have to find out. I don’t know how you can live without knowing!” Yeah, I don’t know how I can live without knowing either, but I have to nonetheless…Please don’t let this be you, it is beyond rude and morbid, it is outright disrespectful.
The number one thing, in my mind, anyway, to NOT do is to put a label or a category of death of that child and qualify the amount of loss the parent should be allowed to feel. Every stage of Death has it’s challenges. A child who dies at birth can be missed just as much (for different reasons) as a child who lives to be 5, or 50. Grief is grief is grief is…. Often times people assume that since a baby is “stillborn” or “miscarried” they are not going to be missed as much, or even counted as having been babies at all! I carried Yogi for 9 months. I was in labor for 23 hours. His heart stopped during the last push, right before he was born. Yes, he was technically “stillborn,” but I refuse to allow him to be put in a category which only serves to minimize his impact. He had a name. We bonded. He is missed. Even now, even 14 years later. I also carried a girl (named Ciel) who I “miscarried” 9 years ago, and I miss her as well. Don’t try to categorize the lives of these little ones. Instead, offer support. Give their parents the honor of simply recognizing their loss.
Here’s what you CAN do: Plant a memorial tree and tell the parents where it is so they can visit it. Here’s what you CAN say: “I’m so sorry for your loss, it must be really hard, I can’t even imagine (a true statement) what that must feel like. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do right now.” Then, bring them a home cooked meal or offer to babysit their other children. I remember the amount of stress that was in my physical body after my own loss, and what helped me the most was a massage. Give them a gift certificate for natural healing of some kind. Make your willingness to help out in any way seems necessary to your friend and check in periodically. Many people have a hard time dealing with Death, and wind up avoiding the grieving people altogether. This is possibly worse than saying the wrong thing. It can be a very isolating time, and knowing that your community is supporting you can make a huge difference.
The greatest lesson we learn from the dying: Carpe Diem!
If you have any questions, or need any advice about the Death process, send me a note, I’d be happy to help.
Rising from the ashes, wings are singed a bit, but hey, I’m flying again!