Oh sister. I am so sorry. This sounds so hard.
I've known a few women who have lost their children. Some were many decades ago. Still, when they talk about their child, their eyes become distant. It's like, for a flash, they remember their little baby, that baby they rocked to sleep through illnesses. That baby they chastised for mischief. Their hope. I mother's hope is such a powerful thing. Their first time seeing them. All of it. The grief, I think, never quite goes away. They can be happy and hopeful people; transformed. And too a part of their body still aches for their baby, that little person who they would give their own bodies for.
My friends say they had to go down into it for a while. They became lost to it, broken by it's weight. My mom was like this for a while when my sister first went away. She was crazy with grief. Some people around her acted like it's contagious; like she could have been doing it better; that she should be doing better than that. Or, reluctant to offend or suffocate, or feelings hurt by her unavailability, they stayed away. Grief can be a lonely place, I think.
At first, I think many people find it hard to talk. Answer the phone. Have company. It's overwhelming to feel like one needs to be a host, or be On.
It can help to give full permission and unrelenting love to someone who is in deep grief, I think.
When my friends are in grief, I try to check in with them regularly. I don't expect them to pick up, or to call me back. I just call to let them know that I am still here, still loving them. Just, I'm thinking about you and I'm here, take your time. Feel free to call night or day.
I offer childcare so that they can have the space to loose it. Just be totally non functional, because that's a natural human reaction to have. People can't hold it together in grief. Or, if they don't have kids, I'll go grocery shopping for them. I'll try to grab easy snacks. It's normal to loose an appetite while in crisis. Bananas, little Greek yogurts. If they're beating themselves up about using a crutch, like smoking, I remind them that they are human and that it's okay to be messy. That's it's most important to survive through while it's absolutely unbearable.
If they are shutdown, I'll give more space and try to up the amount of physical support. I'll try to phrase things in a way that doesn't leave her feeling obligated or guilty. I am going to be in town on Monday to run errands. I was thinking I would go grocery shopping. Can I pick anything up for you? If you're not up for company I could drop the bag on your back porch?
If it's something I haven't been through, I don't try to compare it to my own stuff. I don't say things like, I understand or, it's like this other thing. I don't try to make it better, more simple, or smaller than it is. I try to say things like, that sounds hard/_____(applicable feeling here).
Later, and only if they are open to it, I might call around and see if I can find an applicable support group. The only thing that really helps, is to be around people who get it. Who've been there. I try not to push it on my friend. She always gets there when she's ready, or finds her own path through.
I try to do some of her busy work. Calling bill companies, cleaning, errand running. It takes a while before the mundane becomes manageable again. If she cries, I try not to fix it. I try to just hold her and hold her and hold her. Let her cry until she's all empty. If she's up for it, I'll tuck her into bed. Pet her head. Just take care of her like she's my own sister.
And when I'm at home, I pray and pray and pray.
Biggest hugs to you. I'm so glad your friend has a friend like you.
