Navigating Grief and Loss
On Monday November 6, 2023 I received the devastating news that my nephew, Logan, had died by suicide at just 20 years of age. My parents had tragically found him dead, and were experiencing pain and despair that cannot be described.
What were the right words for them? For my sister, Logan’s mother? For Logan’s father?
What are the “right” words to offer in support when someone is grieving?
As news of Logan’s passing spread, I had the experience of being on the receiving end as so many people with profoundly good intentions tried to offer support and solace to me in my grief. And I’ve needed to find the words for my grieving family too.
As time has passed, finding the right words remains a challenge for me – and for those who want to talk with me about this tragedy. How do we broach the topic? What if they’re having a bad day? What if they’re having a good day? What should we say or share?
Colin Campbell, the author of “Finding The Words”, knows about profound grief and loss. Following the devastating death of his two teenage children in a car accident, he discovered that people struggled to find the words to share their sorrow with him in helpful ways. Colin argues that well-intentioned phrases like “there are no words,” “everything happens for a purpose,” or “they’re in a better place” can unintentionally shut down discussions about grief. He says that there are words that can express the depth of any grief, and we need to find them.
What can friends and family do instead of offering clichés?
Below I offer a range of responses from my recent profound loss, and a conversation I had with Colin about his experience and the book he subsequently wrote about grief.
Acknowledge the grief
This is tricky and depends on the nature of the relationship you have with the person who is grieving. I offer the following scripts.
In the immediate aftermath of the death and with someone reasonably close, you might ask:
“How is your grief today?”
This allows the person to divulge as much or little as they want, while still feeling acknowledged.
A friend called me and said:
“I have no idea what you’re going through, but I’m here to listen if you want to talk about Logan.”
This showed compassion, a desire to hear about a family member I loved, and a recognition that this wasn’t a time for him to tell me stories of his losses. It felt good.
In general, I have found that people offering condolences and expressing sorrow to be unhelpful. Their intentions are good. I appreciate their willingness. But this response brings me into an uncomfortable conversation. And it makes the conversation about what they are feeling. I much prefer someone that I’m not intimately close to, and who has not experienced the loss I’m experiencing, to say:
“I know you’ve had a really rough time. Do you feel like chatting or do you prefer space at the moment?”
This lets me control the direction of the conversation, or experience silence.
Colin Campbell advises that we, “ask them how they are going. Sometimes we shy away from asking questions like this because we’re uncomfortable with the pain of grief. But in fact, there’s nothing wrong with the pain of loss. It’s a beautiful pain. It comes from love. The reason it hurts so bad is because I love them so much. And isn’t that a beautiful thing? Don’t we want to love people? Don’t we want to open our hearts up to both sides of love?”
In professional settings, be brief:
“I was so sorry to hear about Logan. Are you comfortable continuing with the meeting? Or is there anything you’d like me to be aware of that we should discuss?”
My experience of going back to work and meeting with new people or colleagues has been that I appreciate the distraction work offers me. And I’m not wanting to talk about Logan all the time with everyone. This kind of statement acknowledges loss and grief, and again it puts control back into the hands of the person grieving.
Find the words
One of the most healing experiences has been having conversations about my nephew with people who knew him and could share stories. As a family we have found the greatest solace and peace in hearing that Logan impacted the lives of others in positive ways. Someone on Facebook wrote to me and shared:
Logan and my daughter used to chat online a few years back, they are the same age and started talking when they were 14. My twin daughters were bullied really badly in school and the one in particular who was bullied more was the one talking to Logan. She was always so happy after they spoke. Logan made her know she was worthy and beautiful and he gave her the time. He listened and they laughed and were just hanging out online in a good, healthy way. I wanted the family to know that he helped my daughter get through an awful time in her life and by helping her he helped our family.
We heard so many stories like this. They are life-giving at a time of loss and grief.
Colin Campbell said we should encourage conversations where we “talk about them. Say their names and share their stories. Conversations about Ruby and Hart, especially with those who knew them, became a crucial aspect of our healing process.”
Offer direct help
Colin described the well-intentioned, but ultimately unhelpful, way people will say “If you need anything let me know.” He explained that “in the early days, the griever may not know what they want, and it’s almost a burden for them to think of things you could do. But when people give specific offers, like to go for a walk together or bring over a meal, that is helpful.”
In our grief a group of people we don’t even know sent us an Uber Eats voucher so we didn’t have to worry about cooking for a couple of nights. Another friend and his wife brought a meal to us the same day we received the news about Logan, but they stayed (at our invitation) and sat and listened as we processed our grief in real time. Having them there was instrumental in helping us through that first night.
My parents received calls from people they were close to who took care of errands, cleaned up the kitchen while family sat and mourned (and laughed and talked) in the living room, and made themselves available. They literally showed up and said, “I’m here to clean your kitchen while you spend time with the family.” (Because there were up to 15-20 people at any one time in the house, this was a constant issue). These friends gave us space, never interjected, and remained close to invisible. But the hour or two they spent helping in this way was sacred.
Recognise that grief evolves
Grief on Day One is different to grief on Day Six, or Day Twelve, or Day Thirty One, or Day Three Thousand Four Hundred and Sixty One. Seeing someone on Day Eight that you have not yet seen can be awkward. They walk in, see you, burst into tears, and want to hug. Suddenly you’re back at Day One again. Your grief has evolved, but they don’t know that. It feels like a recurring tsunami. Yes, hug. Yes, offer love and sorrow. But remember to ask those questions:
How is your grief today?
I want to be sensitive about where you’re up to. Is talking good? Is space good? You take control. I’m just here for you.
Be patient and let the conversation evolve.
When you’re grieving too
In an attempt to show empathy, you might be tempted to suggest that you understand what someone who is grieving is going through because you’ve also experienced loss.
Share in general details about your loss if you think it will be relevant or helpful, but do not go into detail unless the newly grieving person specifically asks for more information. It’s unfair and unhelpful to require them to process and respond to your story while they are yet to fully process their own.
Do not compare your experience. Losing your teenage children in a car accident is not the same as losing your nephew to suicide. Losing your grandmother at the age of 84 is not the same as losing your husband at 40. Losing a sister in adulthood is not the same as losing a baby. Even losing someone with the same type of relationship isn’t the same! Because the person you’ve lost is not their person, and the relationship they had with that person was uniquely theirs.
You may have experienced “symptoms” of grief in common, and there is enormous benefit in someone knowing that they’re not alone in experiencing those symptoms. This type of information isn’t usually helpful until later stages of grief, and only when the person grieving has expressed interest in knowing more about your experience.
Be aware that the grief of others may trigger your own. Give yourself space to process recurring grief away from the newly grieving person. (The suggestions below might be helpful for you, too.)
For the grievers
Evolving identities
Colin delves into the concept of identity after a profound loss, which is when you lose someone who you feel is entwined intrinsically with your own identity. He found the loss of his children destabilising because “Ruby and Hart’s dad” was a key part of his identity. He explores the evolution of this identity and the painful process of acknowledging and adapting to life without his children.
Recognise that your identity will shift. It must so that you can progress.
I used to be the uncle of this red-hot surfer who was pushing towards a professional surfing life. Now I’m the uncle of an amazing surfer who died by suicide. Let your identity shift.
Engaging with the grief
In Finding the Words, Colin Campbell described how time alone doesn’t heal wounds; rather, it’s the engagement with grief that facilitates change. Avoiding grief can lead to stagnation. It’s not only better, but it’s necessary to confront and process the pain.
My Facebook post was viewed some 3 million times. More than 16 000 people shared it. And across pages, some 20 000 comments were shared. Many of them were about other people’s grief. I read them all. I wept. I experienced the shared sadness of not just one life lost, but hundreds – perhaps thousands – of lives lost too soon and too tragically. This immersion in collective sorrow forced me to confront the reality that Logan is dead. (Writing that still breaks me apart and makes me sob). But it reinforces the love I feel for Logan. In some ways this contradicts what I have written above, and it might not be the norm. Most of these stories, however, were of lives lost to suicide – people gone far too soon. One person described how an ageing aunt had recently passed (albeit, suddenly) and so he knew just how I felt. I appreciated his effort to connect over our recent sad events… but I also wanted to explode with “it’s not the same!”
There are many different ways to find and create community today.
Attending family gatherings, participating in the funeral, and paddling out at Terrigal Haven with 250 others to farewell Logan facilitated an engagement with grief that slowly moved me towards a future where I can live with this grief.
Grieve in community
When I read Colin’s book and interviewed him on my podcast, one of the things that I was most taken by was his recognition that “many religious and cultural traditions emphasise grieving in a community, challenging the current societal tendency to isolate grief.” He shares the strength found in shared grief and the transformative power of acknowledging pain within a supportive community. Being surrounded by loved ones who understand the depth of the pain is healing. Communal gathering becomes a space for laughter, tears, and shared memories, breaking the barriers of grief and fostering connection.
Though an atheist himself, Colin’s experience was one built around Jewish traditions (in keeping with his wife’s customs). My wife has Maori heritage. Their marae tradition is built around family gathering together with the body of the deceased in the gathering place for several days of mourning, storytelling, and family time. I once scoffed at something so “gross”… but now I am drawn to the beauty of what this custom offers.
In Finding the Words, Colin draws on a powerful metaphor shared by his rabbi. Death is like a shipwreck. When someone dies, the ship of our life is shattered on the rocks. Wood is strewn across the ocean surface, and we find ourselves paddling in rough seas. The community around us – our church, sports clubs, community groups, neighbours, relatives, and friends – becomes metaphorical planks of wood for us to cling to as we navigate the storm of grief.
Time doesn’t heal all wounds
An analogy that was shared with me described the death of Logan as being like somebody placing a grand piano in the middle of the stage of my life (and the lives of all those who are profoundly affected by such a loss). As an actor on the stage I’m not used to the piano being there. It doesn’t belong there. I want it removed – gone. I keep bumping into it. I forget it’s there and crash into it over and over. But eventually I learn to dance around it. It’s always – ALWAYS – there. But I learn to navigate my way around the stage without it interfering with my movement the way it once did when it first arrived. Soon I start to learn to play the piano a bit. And I’ll discover how to shift it to places on the stage that work for me.
And one day, perhaps when I’m 70 or 80 or 90 years old, I’ll sit at that piano for long periods of time and admire it, play it, and love it.
At least, that’s my hope.
Want more?
The Happy Families Podcast
Episode #888 | Finding the Words
For help:
- Lifeline: 13 11 14
- Suicide Callback Service: 1300 659 467
- Mensline Australia: 1300 789 987
- Kids Helpline: 1800 55 1800
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