Our Deepest Condolences

As a bereavement counsellor, I meet many people who seem to believe that if you effectively mourn a loss, you'll then achieve "closure". The notion that one mourns a loss and then overcomes it, to the extent that emotions about the loss are not triggered in the future, is a myth. One never gets over grief, because that's impossible: you cannot erase memory. Besides, it's not about getting over it. Instead you have to figure out how you’re going to deal with it when emotional memories are triggered throughout the rest of your life, including on death anniversary days. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow sums up the lifelong experience of grief in the first three lines of his poem "Secret Anniversaries of the Heart": The holiest of all holidays are those Kept by ourselves in silence and apart; The secret anniversaries of the heart.

In an era when so much politically polarizes and tires to divide us, bravo to NYT for running such columns about our shared humanity.

In recent years, my go to response to those in acute grief has been, "Sometimes there are no words." This article reinforces that sentiment. Grief is too raw for words. Thank you for this thoughtful piece.

There is a story by Chekhov, titled "Heartache". It's about a nineteenth-century taxi driver (horse and carriage), whose son has died recently. He tries to to tell his passengers about his son's death, but no one is willing to listen. At the end of the day he goes to the horse's stable and tells his grief to his horse.

Seneca also offered advice on how to live. Never take anyone important to you for granted, because there are no guarantees they will live yet another day. Pay attention to them now, instead of planning to do so at some future time - this way you will have enjoyed their company while you could, and you will not be filled with remorse at your neglect. Everyone dies. I recommend “On the Shortness of Life; Life is Long if You Know How to Live It” by Seneca.

It's human to grieve and everyone feels empathy toward others who are grieving - for some it's can be too difficult to say anything though. If you find yourself grieving a loss and are shocked that some of your friends aren't saying what you want (or feel you need) them to say, trust that they are thinking it. They're paralyzed by not knowing what to say or do for their friend. Believe in their silent support and take care of yourself.

Durkheim wrote that we label God the mysterious, spiritual control we believe human society, both within and beyond our horizons, exerts on our fate. We are social beings with both local and grand imaginations. It's local social tissue that defines us. Someone ripped out by death leaves scars. Yet it also defies our trust in Durkheim's larger social God, the spirit of a people. It sets us back, makes us small again. Whether our great spirit is a national ethos, an ethnic one, something regional, or even world-wide, the death of those dear is a wedge. It confronts us with lonely reality. We mourn the dead, but they're oblivious. We imagine otherwise, because it helps us cope. Our real gripe is with the communal spirit we thought sustained us. Death occurs because of events, even if genetic or microscope, and events have cause. God does not play dice. The stream of life flows because we all contribute, somehow. If someone succumbs, its because contributions went missing. Our greatest challenge is to live fearlessly, because all the we imagine is just smoke and mirrors.

When my first wife died from complications in pregnancy, my Uncle Walt wrote to me or perhaps spoke with me, and said, "I wish there were words that could take away the pain you feel. But I don't know any. Time will heal, some." It helped me, and I hope it helps others. This is what I say to people I know who experience loss. it is true, and grief can be at time when truth is obscured, hard to pin down. To the trenchant comment Ms. Adebayo attributes to Thomas Mann, I have seen how care and support flow from the sick or dying out to the close family, and friends, and from the close family and friends out to those more distant. Exactly the reverse of what many consider the ideal. Yet its good for those who give care, and good for those who receive it.

Ritualized, established formulae are helpful, as is the short statement to mourners made upon leaving the shiva home and common in Sephardi or eastern Judaism: “Min ha­shamayim tenuhamu“–“May you be comforted from Heaven.”

To both Ayobami and SCZ, your thoughts are each in their own way so very poignant. And to you, SCZ, my deepest sympathy. I have found myself often on the "comforter" side, and as I age this very role is becoming more frequent. It is true that often we say words that make us feel better without really empathizing with those loved ones left behind. It made me think back years ago when I accompanied my mother as she visited her friend who lost her husband. What I saw is etched in my mind to this day. From down the hall, I saw two beautiful women sitting side by side. They were facing each other, the widow and my mom, both with tears in their eyes. Not a word was said, but the love that radiated from them to me, while my mom held her friend's hand between her own two, spoke volumes. I am now soon to be in that situation, the grieving widow. My husband of 51 years has advanced Parkinson's Disease. I have accepted the fact that he soon will pass on to a Better Place. Then I once again need to go through those stages of grief until I once again can accept. But I am blessed to have family and friends who know grief. And I will welcome their love with tears of what joy I can feel.

"..., of all my life -- and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death." (EBB circa 1846, early draft.) Love and death transcend all space and time.

Thing is Stoicism didn't survived to our times. We only know some fragments of what they were and (kinda) the general idea. Just a side note because someone in the comments mentioned: it is a myth that Marcus Aurelius was a stoic. Yes, Stoicism was his favorite philosophy of life, but he didn't hesitate to search and adopt other aspects of other schools when Stoicism didn't accomodate his obligations as Emperor. He is better discribed as an eclectic.

Sure, the three great Stoic writers, Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aureius, have written some things which can be comforting and encouraging. But never forget: They don't give a positive evaluation to grief, neither one's own or someone else's. Grief is only a symptom of ignorance, or obstinacy, a wrongful disinclination to coöperate with the Logos of the Cosmos. It is an obstacle to happiness, and as such, is to be contained, dismissed, got beyond, as best one can manage that. The worst thing about Stoicism is that one is taught not to respect the grief that naturally afflicts us when we lose a loved one. Wives die, they say, lovers die, friends die, children die: that's part of Nature, so suck it up. It's a very chilly, inhumane philosophy, for all that it purports to be about securing happiness for us.

Given the choice, which would you choose: 1. Life as it is, with its emotional ups and downs, its achievements and disappointments, or 2. A life exactly neutral, free of both joy and sadness? Almost everyone would choose (1), which indicates that the combination of joy and sadness is a net positive experience that no one would really give up.

"Grief" seems to be a recurring topic for me in the last few days. This is the 3rd encounter Earlier, I read J-53, the mother orca who was in the news for carrying her dead child, has returned to her pod after 17 days and 1,000 miles "mourning." https://www.npr.org/2018/08/12/638047095/after-17-days-and-1-000-miles-a... Perhaps it is a coincidence. I was just having an email exchange over the weekend with a former colleague from decades ago. His only son, then a college freshman, was killed riding a bike to school by a car several years ago. Last year, he and his wife decided to take a year off driving across America. Recently, he has become active again on LinkedIN so I decided to drop him an email. I asked him how he and his wife are and if the trip has provided them with some solace. He said they grow a lot, whatever that means, but he doesn't like the distraction. It takes him away from his grief. Perhaps their grief is the last link between them and their boy IMHO, there are private grief and social grief. The former is what destroy the grieving person. I have seen it up close with my brother who lost his infant son decades ago. Divorce and withdrawal to follow. At least my former colleague has been able to open up. He and his wife are still together. Maybe that is why survivor groups are so important after their loved ones have committed suicide Maybe there is no one way to deal with grief. After all, we are human, all too human

The Stoics suggest that you should turn bad experiences into opportunities. This is the way, I think, to deal with grief, particularly if you were extremely close to the deceased, as with a widower. Best to turn your grief into a daily celebration of every thing that was best about your lost loved one and channel that into being a better person. You can’t bring them back but you can make them matter. As I think was written by Dr Suess—“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.”

Tsunami Japanese fishing folk flee the tsunami. Grief allows no sanctuary from its tidal rage. I drown each day.

I lost a brother years ago, too young to die, and recently, a mother. When my brother died, my sisters and I were expected to suck it up and support our parents. Not once did my parents or relatives or friends ask how we were feeling. Not then, not years later. If I bring up his name, which I rarely do even in passing because I have been conditioned not to, I get eye rolls or silence. This is intensely cruel. When my mother passed away, we were expected to push down our grief for my father’s “primary” grief. Not once were we asked how we felt about the loss of our mother, and no acknowledgements of our grief have been made. I deeply understand that a parent losing a child is devastating, and losing a spouse is shattering, but is there any reason why we can’t grieve along with them? Who made up that stupid rule? When do WE get to grieve? Please acknowledge children and siblings directly to them when expressing sorrow for someone’s loss. You may just prevent years of therapy.

Speaking of condolences... https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2018/aug/13/facebook-news-media-c... “...A senior Facebook executive told Australian media companies that if they didn’t cooperate with the social network, their businesses would die... “...According to a report by The Australian, Campbell Brown, Facebook’s head of news partnerships, told a group of more than 20 broadcasters and publishers that she wanted to help media companies develop sustainable business models through the platform... “...We will help you revitalise journalism … in a few years the ­reverse looks like I’ll be holding your hands with your dying ­business like in a hospice,” she said, in comments corroborated by five people who attended the meeting in Sydney on Tuesday... “...The Australian also reported that Brown said that Facebook’s chief executive, Mark Zuckerberg, “doesn’t care about publishers but is giving me a lot of leeway and concessions to make these changes”, although both Facebook and Brown vehemently deny this comment was made, referring to a transcript they have from the meeting....

Whay many of the responders said is actually a part of the Jewish rules of condolence calls. The visitor is not to start the conversation. The mourner may either speak or not. Silence is important

One merely practical suggestion: Never send a "sympathy card". Write a note - how ever brief; a one-liner - in your own words. Even awkwardness and misspellings show personal engagement with the grieving. And an e-mailed "card" is insulting.

Tell the folks how Seneca’s life ended.

Nothing is more healing than having someone say the name of your loved one. And if you can add a memory that is even better. As the weeks go by, if something you read, or see, or hear reminds you of the deceased person, send the bereaved a note about it. If you don't know the person well, or if you didn't know the deceased, just say this: I am so very sorry. That is enough. Doing these things will help more than you can imagine.

Seneca...amor fati...so hard. I've gotten better at accepting fate, though loving it is often out of my reach. Seneca and Aurelius whisper to me when I try to reject What's Happening. If I keep listening, someday I'll learn to go the next step and love it. Maybe.

A very beautiful piece, Ms Adebayo. Indeed. I love funerals, kind of a little bit of Gigot in myself. People are always, almost, nice and kind at them. They are designed for the living. The dead are busy.

Thank you for these letters! I will print them and keep them. Karen

We fear and dread grief, until it has become bearable.

Sonnet XXX When to the sessions of sweet, silent thought, I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear times lost: Then can I drown an eye unused to flow For precious friends hid in deaths dateless night, And weep afresh love's long since cancelled woe, And moan the expense of many a vanished sight. Then can I grieve at grievances foregone And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er The sad account of fore bemoaned moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before. But if the while I think on the dear friend All losses are destroyed and sorrows end. William Shakespeare This poem always comes to mind when I experience grief or share that of others. It speaks of the universality of human emotion and experience and the importance of friendship and the comfort of others.

I must be missing something. What is it with the aversion to the [French] Existentialist movement (sorry, Phenomonologists) that continues to pervade nearly all avenues of American thought? The Stoics came and went. Memento Mori. “We have discovered happiness, we know the way, we have found the exit out of the labyrinth of thousands of years. Who else has found it? Modern man perhaps? ‘I have got lost; I am everything that has got lost,’ sighs modern man. This modernity was our sickness: lazy peace, cowardly compromise, the whole virtuous uncleanliness of the modern Yes and No.” -Friedrich Nietzsche

Society has the weirdest ways of even discussing the death we are grieving. I didn't lose my mother, I know where she is buried. She didn't pass away. That has morphed into just "passed". She died. Trying to avoid the obvious is not healthy. Neither is running to the doctor for drugs because you feel depressed. If you loved the person, that is a sign that you really miss him or her. It is not an illness to be treated. It is something that only time will fix. You don't have to go through all the stages of grief per Dr. Kubler-Ross's agenda. There is no one right way. Listen to the mourner to find out what that path may be. There is also no time frame that suits everyone. Death is very complicated.

I would have found greater consolation if the writer had found at least one Nigerian, African, or other non-European writer from which to quote. Maybe her article might have been more in keeping with the shrouded window or spoke more to modern experiences. Indeed, even a reference to one of the myriad black WOMEN writers might have helped. Perhaps Mandela’s powerful words about grief might have drawn me in; or the words of Martin Luther King Jr’s widow. The myopia demonstrated by the author’s choice of quoted authors may reflect a myopia not only in the article but also in her worldview, a myopia that may only make her grief worse or mask it’s underlying glibness.

After 12 years I still do not want to discuss Losing sisters and friends And my youngest Sorries for your loss Heard more than a few Left alone with your personal you Grief always there an irreparable tear!

My mom was confined to her bed at home at the very end stage of a terminal cancer. The live-in hospice nurse had to go on an errand with my sister. That left me sitting on the side of her bed, just the two of us. She had not eaten or verbalized in at least a week or more. Lost, I started a soliloquy about how she should let go, that her life's love my dad who had already died would be waiting for her, that it was OK to leave us. I heard a grunt. My mom, a New York City girl and mind blowing jazz piano player and singer, had something to tell me. I turned and her eyes were open but she couldn't talk. I paid attention anyway. She conveyed the message without words. "Easy for me to say?" I found myself offering to her. "Uh-huh" she said. Then her eyes closed and that was my last lucid moment with her. I took it to mean that platitudes and homilies and feel goodisms are OK for a little kid who drops an ice-cream cone, but life and death are raw and heavy and the emotions of them can't be smoothed without the passage of time. She may have been grieving the imminent loss of herself then, and I think the notion she shared with me that day is also well applied to those left behind after the death of a loved one. Sit with them, listen to them, and help them let time pass.

I also urge those seeking answers to understanding grief to read the book "Lament for Son" by Nicholas Wolterstorff, the Noah Porter Professor Emeritus of Philosophical Theology at the Yale Divinity School. It was recommended to me by a behaviorist Psy.D. in my physician's office after I suffered the death of a loved one. ISBN 978-0-8028-0294-1.

Thank you for this beautiful piece, Ms Adebayo. As a bereavement counselor and author on grief, I sit with those who grieve many times a day and I frequently speak to those who gather in groups to connect with other mourners. What those who are bereaved tell me is most helpful to them is rarely what is said to them by others. It is when others enter into the sorrow with them and listen attentively to the stories of their love for the one who has died that true compassion is experienced. Your essay will be of great benefit for those who mourn and for those who desire to be a more compassionate community.

Happiness presents us with the same paradox as grief: conventional language does not do justice to it, since joy and grief are incomparable, and the sheer raw quiddity of the experience overwhelms our powers of expression. Profound joy and profound grief both individualize us, like the thought of our mortality. Since both emotions point us in the same direction—a place where we are brought face to face not only with our own individuality but with the Greater Individuality before which it fades and becomes unimportant—maybe we should count both emotions as versions of the same gift. Since all words draw their power from this single Fountain of Language, it is of course inexpressible. But it “speaks” nonetheless. As William Blake said, “excess of sorrow laughs; excess of joy weeps.”

Eloquent and so complete a statement that it makes one hesitate. I am 70 and somewhere between God and the support of some exceptional friends I have put together a pretty good life. My wife is kind and my children are gifted intellectually and in the compassion they bring to the world around them. All of these good things have happened in the wake of my childhood—an experience that was less less than protected and supported. Optimism for me is a house that has been built in fits and starts. A relationship with a compassionate form of Protestantism and later Catholicism have been immenseley helpful. Along the way there was the steadying influence of psychotherapy. I learned to actually like life and eventually revere it. The last eighteen months has severely tested my fifty years of effort to reach beyond my own Narcissism. In the end it comes down to hatred for the man who stands at the head of our government and all of the destructive men and women that stand with him. Life needs a viable ecologically balanced environment His policies do not protect nature.The values I grew up with inform me that we need one another—and that we need to treat one another with empathy and genuine human regard. Ripping infants from their mother’s arms is not who we are but it does reflect real venality. I loathe DT and will do whatever one man can to blunt the direction he wants us to take. Thanks for the fight DT—I am not going to let you hurt the good parts of my own heart.

Grieving takes time. And it manifests itself in many ways. When my father died I was happy that he died intact. He wasn't on life support. He wasn't in a wheelchair. He was still independent. He was 75. He'd spent the last 21 years of his life retired because of a serious illness that affected his brain. I had two fathers. The one that was abusive, drunk, angry, and unpleasant. Then there was the man I got to know as an adult. That was the man who teased me about the daily and Sunday NY Times crossword puzzles and how quickly I completed them. That was the man who told me that a curse word was not the answer. That was the man who cracked up when I got stuck in mud. I miss my second father. The first one not so much. But they are both my father. When friends of mine have lost their parents, other family members or friends I try to find blank cards to send them. I attempt to express my condolences knowing that their feelings are not mine. But I also try to let them know that it's never easy to lose a person we love or were close to. The other thing I try to convey is that grief takes time.

Well done! I applaud your statement, "Grief was (is) a wilderness with no sign posts." Dorothy encountered it with each split in the "Yellow Brick Road." I am in my eighties and I am losing more and more friends. There is nothing to do and I watch these ongoing losses knowing full well I will be there soon enough. When I offer condolences, I end my notes with "I wish you and your family God's Peace." Ultimately, to my way of thinking, there is one factor that will never change: time. It will most always to smooth out the bumpy emotional road.

This is so beautifully written. In my case, l lost my son (24) and mother in quick succession, no words could help me. I agree with you that rainbows ( and angels ) did not, and do not, help. What eased my suffering were the few good friends and relatives that had the courage to sit with me and hold me. I did lots of grief reading. Frankl’s ‘Man’s Search for Meaning’ and, as with you, Lewis’ ‘A Grief Observed’ helped. Grief does not end though, but (for most of us) transfigures into something bittersweet and manageable. For much of the world, death is a daily reality. Sometimes, I think that we in the developed world forget this.

Lovely piece! I’ve long been mystified by our handing the administration and orchestration of grief to priests and others who strangely combine selling afterlife myths with the more organic sadness of loss. We feel the latter; even a killer whale does. Pretending that someone has just gone on, ascended, been rewarded, or is with some god is simply getting in the way of feeling loss. Maybe intended to help those who remain, maybe intended to sell the package of myth, whatever; it’s putting a floral bandage over a mortal wound. Flowers and candles; soppy condolence cards; a drunken, rowdy wake; naming a new infant; buying an inscribed chunk of rock; all fine. But let’s not try to paper grief over with empty formalists. It’s emotion and loss.

I lost my son several months ago. The people who have helped me the most are the ones who are willing to sit with me and listen to me. Any kind of acknowledgment of my son and our loss is a bit of comfort, but the few people who are willing to share the burden a little - to listen to the crying, despair, guilt, rage without trying to fix it - have been a true lifeline to me. One of the strangest, most unexpected feelings I have had is a sense of betrayal of my son as the nonstop, all day and all night long pain begins to lessen. As much as I have wanted the pain to lessen, I did not realize that I would feel disloyal and less close to my son whenever it did let up, whenever I laughed, or thought of other things, or even enjoyed myself. I have felt shocked that I am beginning to go on without him. Intense grief is a kind of closeness with the person who died, and I am desperate to stay close to him. But it cannot be that the only way to love and honor my son is to remain as grief-stricken as possible for the rest of my life. He is in one world and I am in this one. I am beginning to see that my grief for my son is not the exact same as my love for him. Grief comes from love, but love is far more powerful than grief. I don't want to make the forlorn mistake of not really living my life. Love is the closeness.

The author's insight speaks to all who have experienced the loss of a loved one. I have had the experience too often, losing 2 wonderful partners, family members and friends. It is difficult to know what to say and often nothing is very helpful. A friend sat with me after the death of my husband. She required nothing from me, nor I of her, but her presence was was an enormous comfort. The many cards and letters gave me comfort as well. Many were from people I had never met and knew I never would. Just knowing that so many people cared helped me through a lot of darkness. Some of the kindest words came from a friend who had also lost her husband. Simply: " it gets better." She was right.

Well written! And it goes without saying (though I will anyway) that it’s far better than the antiseptic ‘thoughts and prayers’ stuff we hear far too often today.

Beautifully written. I wish American wrote as well.

This is beautifully written, enlightening and affirming. Thank you. The pain of grief is part of life. At times almost unbearable. Our culture seems determined to avoid pain at all costs. Pills, distractions, drink and so on. Sometimes we just have to be with the pain. Most dysfunctional behavior is caused be trying to avoid pain. Sometimes pain is “what we got” and we gotta just sit with it.

Adebayo talks about the Nigerian practice of opening a hardcover register for mourners to share their thoughts and feelings. My spouse died recently. Daughter and I provided a composition book for friends and relatives to offer their personal written condolences. We call it a "Tribute to Sue" and it far transcends the formal obituary that was posted in the newspaper. Reading the thoughts, feelings and stories in the journal helps us deal with grief and mourning. It will remain a cherished object in our lives.

Beautiful essay, Ms. Adebayo; thank you. I just went to my latest funeral three days ago. My friend, same age as me, died in a tragic bicycle accident. I’ve learned over the years that the true measure of a person’s worth has nothing to do with his/her wealth (or many other things) and everything to do with the lasting legacy of the people whose lives were touched. He lived and loved with no expression of fear, ever. It’s becoming easier to talk to bereaved family members; all I have to do is express my own feelings of love and happiness at having known and appreciated the time I spent with their lost relative and the tension evaporates in a warm hug. What more beautiful impact could anyone possibly have?

I find myself wondering about the unexpressed grief those of us in other countries feel when hearing about savage beheadings, or bombs that mistakenly kill a wedding party, or children and their parents going about their daily lives. These are strangers. We know nothing about them except they, among hundreds of thousands, were in the wrong place at the wrong time This collective and understandable uselessness in the face of ongoing violence and tragedy grows like a huge elephant in the room of collective consciousness and consience as well. It is not our struggle to mourn the dead of Syria. But yet it is. Do we need to start protesting violence in distant places, not directly caused by our government? Maybe we need monthly day of the dead markerss that all could, at least symboloically, participate in and give voice to our disquiet.

What I learned from the loss of my son, who drowned in a sporting accident eleven years ago at age 31, is that grief is like a labyrinth . At the center is a peaceful garden. You walk the path, step by step. Sometimes you are very near that peaceful center and sometimes you are walking on the outermost stepping stones. George Elliot had some words that seem true for me “She was no longer wrestling with the grief, but could sit down with it as a lasting companion and make it a sharer in her thoughts.”

Our life is a pearl neckless and the pearls are the moments of the experiences in our life. "Grief" is one of those pearls that rarely appears in the neckless and there is no word in any language to capture its beauty and sublimity - silence may be the best expression for that. The law of nature follows in our life - the causality that our limited understanding of the nature remains beyond comprehension. It shows its majestic power and we are tossed on the waves of life. The modern man in search of truth could not find the answers - science, reason and humanism are no help. Held can only come from deep inside where no camera can reach - a drop of tear can only express its presence. "Word" is not the right scaffolding to build the expression of grief - let there be scilence.

My husband died from melanoma when we were both just 39 years old. This event has given me a path of overcoming grief all these long years. What I have learned about my own grief, I work to use to help others. Grief is indeed a bottomless feeling. And what I tell others is, Yes, I have felt something like what you might be feeling now, and Yes, it feels as it it will last forever and as if you will never recover. I will be here to listen to whatever you need and want to say. Without saying a thing, I know that my presence with them can show them that they will recover, because I am sitting with them right there with a life that is rewarding and sometimes even joyous. Recovering.

Just be with the bereaved person. Listen to them if they want to talk, sit with them if they don’t. Give practical help, such as making a meal. If you can’t be physically present, write a short note or letter that lets the bereaved know that they are in your thoughts (and prayers, if the bereaved is religious), and consider offering a memory or appreciative observation of the deceased. Never, ever make light of the experience they are going through. Rainbows are not helpful at this time.