h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

When people hear bad news, especially news that would cause bereavement or emotional distress, their response is invariably selfish. This is in fact the natural response, and by no means a bad thing, although it does tend to annoy the person in emotional distress. This is where the "I'm sorry" part comes in. I'll give an example:

I was in a car crash a few months ago. No one died, and there was only one major injury, which was basically just a nasty concussion. Nevertheless, when you look at the damage to the car (written off), it's hard to believe that anyone survived, or at least wasn't seriously injured. People tell me this all the time, even though I dealt with it more or less right after the accident.

The most common reaction that I got was for people to express (generally not verbally) their grief about the fact that we could have died. I hate to call this selfish, but their concern was for their own loss -- and that of other people was secondary.

However, I do not begrudge them this, because it is the natural way for people to act. Frankly, people can only relate to situations that have potential for grief by applying their own values to these situations. After all, no one likes it when you pretend that you know about such an experience when you don't.

At the end of the day, most people said things like, 'I'm glad you're still alive', and that's ultimately quite gratifying. Because, then one can quite rightly be selfish as well. If a person is selfish enough to be terrified at the prospect of your death (or any other bereavement), then you have an equal right to be selfish about the fact that someone cares that much about you to be gratified that you're still alive.

I was at one time quite receiving treatment for cancer.
I am now fine and have been in remission for many years (they will never tell you that you're cured).
My biggest problem was with people telling me that how brave I was.
This annoyed me and I always disagreed. This resulted in quite a few insulted people.
I suppose it's quite similar to what you're saying Lowmankind.
I know people are trying to show their concern, but after the 20th you just wish they wouldn't bother.

I agree with people not thinking about what they are saying. People who think you are brave, when you are scared silly. Just because you are still here and haven't thrown yourself under a crosstown bus, they want to lionize you as a beacon of courage. When in reality you cry and mope a lot, yell at the kids, kick the dog sometimes just cause you can, and generally are an all-out stinker.

When my wife had twins and we would go out in public with them we would ofter hear, "I am so proud of you, I could have never done it with two babies." I always wanted to ask which one they would have put up for adoption. Tell me again you are so proud of me when I am home alone with the two of them when they get a bad case of the runs on the same day the plumbing goes out and the landlord drops by for an unscheduled visit. I would have sold both of them for a used stick of gum, and thrown in a back rub and my last apple in the deal.

My Mum died when I was eight, and I learnt some surprising things about adults. First, they don't automatically know everything: my teachers, who knew my family well, didn't know why I came back to school two weeks late. Second, when they found out, they told me how lucky I was to have Auntie Elsie--not a relation, a nanny who had been doing all the minding for the previous six years. I said nothing, but it struck eight-year-old me as odd to be called lucky just then.

Now I forgive and sympathise with them. Bereavement is generally not well prepared for; which is strange, since it happens to everyone. We go into paroxysms wondering what to say; what we would most like to hear, is the answer--but that takes time (five minutes, or even more) to ponder out.

In rural Ireland (I'm a Dub) there is some tradition of how to behave around death. One common phrase used is "I'm sorry for your trouble", to which the answer is "thank you".

I know people mean well, but I think one of the worst things to say is 'I know how you're feeling' - no-one knows exactly how you're feeling & your outward appearance & manner is not an accurate guide either.

just so you all know, i wrote this entry from personal experience. my mum died on January 14th of this year.

spook

I guessed as much. Early days then. My dad died 10 years ago.

Spook: I'm fighting the urge to tell you some form of, "I'm sorry to hear that", but it's my terrible sense of humour at work there, so I shall shy away from it.

As a matter of fact, I've been quite touched by everyone's stories in this conversation thread, and I feel that by sharing one's own story, one can find ways to deal with their grief. Your feelings and expriences are your own, and it's foolish for another person to pretend they know what you feel. However, as someone pointed out, everyone means well -- I just think that they are having real trouble with expressing their good intent.

All in all, I like your positive approach

I would say it's often perfectly *easy* to see how someone's feeling -- it's written all over them -- it's just supremely fatuous to tell them so. 'God, you look terrible' has no positive uses I can think of; nor has 'I know how you feel' which goes in exactly the wrong direction, referring back to the speaker's feelings rather than supporting the addressee.

A Dublin journalist Jonathan Philbin Bowman once gave someone who was tragically bereaved a candle, saying something like "this is a grief candle. Whenever you feel the need to grieve for a while, light it. When it's all burned away, you'll have done enough grieving." The bereaved person told this story with obvious gratitude, when JPB died.

Whilst it's sometimes possible to see that someone is grief stricken, in some circumstances people hide their feelings because it's the only way to get by. (British stiff upper lip?)

I wondered sometimes if people thought I was being a bit offhand responding to comments/questions relating to my Dad's death on the occasions when I felt if I were to say anything much, I would start crying. There's a time to cry & times when you'd rather try to be normal (whatever that is).

Crying is terrific at almost any time. Very cathartic, leads to insights, resolves lingering upsets, almost always makes you feel better, and in no way diminishes you in the eyes of others.

Sure, it can be bad to bottle things up, but there can be times when you might prefer not to, for whatever reason.

It can be very self destructive to bottle things up as I found out from personal experience.My dad died in August 1979 and it wasn't until June 1982 that I actually cried over his death by which time I was having an emotional breakdown.It didn't help that my mother was of no use whatsoever in either offering or giving any support pver his death.
Her totally unsympathetic attitude showed through again six years later when she told me over the phone not to upset myself in the same breath she told me a very dear friend who I cared a lot for had taken her own life.Wouldn't have been so bad,but the tears were already rolling down my cheeks.
I tried to offer her an olive branch three years ago when I got to hear about my sisters death at the age of 55,but she just slammed the phone down on me after two minutes after wondering why I was so horrible to my family.
In the future,I know I'll keep my feelings to myself because if you can't rely on your own family for support following a bereavement,then you can neither rely on or trust anyone enough for support.It's a cynical attitude to take,I know, as I feel sure there are some decent people out there somewhere,but I certainly haven't come across many of them in my life,just well meaning do-gooders.

That's a hard place you're in, Compo. You agree it's harmful to bottle it in, but you've had no help trying to express grief within your family.

It is true that most people are decent and sympathetic. The novelist Proust, who was a sharp analyst of people's behaviour, came to the conclusion that the outstanding human characteristic is kindness.

Communication breaks down for all kinds of reasons in families, but it is almost always possible to find someone outside to talk to. I was involved in co-counselling around twenty years ago, and I found it was worth getting over the discomfort of telling strangers my woes, for the sake of the feedback -- which came from myself -- the realisation that after all, those woes were manageable! Expressing grief, anger, boredom, in company where weeping, wild gesturing and shaking were permitted and uninterrupted, really really dispelled those expensive emotions.

For me, talking about my grief is incredably difficult. My Dad took his own life two and a half years ago. I found that a lot of people didn't say anything but those who did said things like 'I'm sorry to hear about your Dad'. Whilst I usually mutter something that resembles a thank you inside I felt like they didn't really know what they were saying. I know this is irrational and they were only trying to help. Another thing I've found is that it does, however difficult, help to talk to someone. I find it easiest to talk to someone I know but not too well. I think that, if it ever does, the wound inside me will take a long time to heal, it still hurts alot but I feel far more at peace with myself and the world every time I deal with that hurt.
Thats just me though, grief is different for everyone.

Someone once stood up and a funeral and said 'Grief is the price you pay for love'.

"Whilst I usually mutter something that resembles a thank you inside I felt like they didn't really know what they were saying."

That's interesting; what else *could* they say?

I find it best to take things at face value, obstinately so, even when I'm deeply suspicious of people's motives or level of understanding. In the end there is no knowing anyone's motives (my own are hard enough to fathom) so my policy in never to bother ascribing motivation.

And yes, wounds do heal, though that doesn't mean there's no scar.

My mum died in March 1992, of a heart attack.. We were due to go on holiday in the October, but I didn't want to go.. I bottled up my feelings, I think I was in a major phase of denial. I felt like it was a nightmare I'd wake up from.. I was very close to my mum,and at the time I didn't think I'd be able to contemplate life without her in it.
I think not talking about my feelings caused me a lot of problems, which took a lot of pain to resolve. I ended up talking to a psychiatrist, who referred me to a bereavement counsellor. I felt able to open up and talk about how I really felt, including the anger I felt towards my mum for dieing. An irrational anger that made me feel guilty. After all, my mum didn't choose to die.

Dad died more recently, a couple of years ago. Although it was awful at the time, I think I learned not to bottle my feelings up so much, although I had to try to hide my feelings in front of my Dad for his sake.. When I got home from visiting him at the hospital, that was when I let go and cried my heart out.It was very cathartic.
As for dealing with how other people approached my grief, I tried to remember that it's not easy to know what to say without making the grief worse. People meant well, and I tried to reply with ' I appreciate your kind thoughts, thank you.', but it wasn't easy. Sometimes you do just wish they'd go away and leave you alone..

As well as my Dad's illness, both my brother and I had to deal with family issues,too, which we could've done without. It was a tough time, but at least we had each other.

Sorry for unburdening myself like this, but I feel that if anything I've said can help anyone it will be worth it.

My maternal grandfather was a wife beating drunk who was kicked out the family home in the 60s and never heard of again. My Gran brought up six children on her own and later married a man whose wife had died in childbirth and brought up his 5 kids (all under ten) when her own were almost grown up. I was never close to this man, although I remain very close to my Gran. When he died five years ago I felt very little to be honest.
But at the funeral my Gran came up to hug me and told me how proud of me she was for being so brave and holding it together. I crumpled with grief, not for her husband, but for her. Her whole life has been one big struggle and she has faced it all with a smile. Now I see that the only way she has been able to do this is to focus on making her children, grandchildren and greatgrandchildren feel safe and loved. Any time I am faced with grief in any form I ask myself what my Gran would do. Sometimes the only way to deal with your own emotions is to help those you love through theirs.

Hooray for enlightened women. We all know one, who worked away with little or no recognition.