The Problem With Trying to Help 

I remember a woman in one of my congregations whom I had not seen for months after her husband died. One day I called just to check in. I wanted to see how she was doing and let her know that I missed her.

She told me she actually had tried to come back to church once. When she walked in, one of the women from the kitchen greeted her. She did not ask how she was doing. She did not ask whether there was anything she could do to support her. She did not mention her husband or share a memory of him. She did not say anything that acknowledged the fact that this woman had just lost the person with whom she had shared her life.

No.

She asked: “When are you coming back to help in the kitchen?”

I don’t think that grieving widow ever came back to the church.

I doubt the woman in the kitchen meant to hurt her. She may even have thought she was saying, We miss you. We want you back. But that is not what landed. What landed was: When are you going to get back to normal? When are you going to start doing things for us again?

And here is the problem. She assumed. She assumed she knew what this grieving woman needed. She assumed returning to the kitchen would be good for her. She assumed she was ready to step back into the life she had before her husband died. Maybe she was. Maybe she wasn’t. Nobody asked. And we all know what assuming does…

Grieving People Often Don’t Know What They Need

One of the stranger parts of grief is that people constantly ask you what you need at precisely the moment when you may have absolutely no idea.

What can I do?

What do you need?

Do you want company?

Do you want to be alone?

Do you want to talk about it?

Do you want to get out of the house?

I don’t know.

That may be the most truthful answer a grieving person has.

Grief can scramble your brain, your routines, your appetite, your sleep, your relationships, your sense of time, and sometimes your ability to decide what to eat for lunch. You can be standing in front of the refrigerator staring at the milk like it has personally betrayed you. So if the grieving person does not always know what they need, the rest of us should probably not act as though we do.

Don’t Assume

Some grieving people want to talk. Others don’t. Some want somebody sitting beside them. Others desperately need an afternoon alone. Some will cry every time you mention the person who died. Some will tell you a hilarious story and laugh so hard they can barely breathe. Some want to return to work or church quickly because routine gives them somewhere to stand. Others cannot imagine walking back into the places where everybody knew them as part of a couple, a family, a team.

There is no universal setting marked GRIEF that tells us exactly how someone will respond. So ask.

Would you like some company?

Would you rather have some space?

Do you want to talk about him?

Would it help if I handled this, or would you rather do it yourself?

Care starts with curiosity, not interrogation or twenty questions, and certainly not the assumption that because something helped your cousin’s neighbor’s brother after his wife died, it must be exactly what this person needs too. Just enough self-awareness to know: I care about you, but I do not automatically know what you need.

Don’t Fix

This one is harder. When somebody we care about hurts, we want to make the hurt stop. That impulse comes from a good place. It is also where we can get into trouble because grief is not a flat tire. There is no jack in the trunk, no spare, no roadside-assistance number that gets everything moving again in forty-five minutes.

Someone they love died. There is no trick, technique, theological explanation, or cleverly worded sentence that fixes that. When we try too hard, we can accidentally start trying to fix the grieving person instead. We tell them to stay busy. Slow down. Get out more. Come back to church. Clean out the closet. Keep the clothes. Get rid of the clothes. Start dating. Don’t start dating. Join a group. Move on. Be strong. Have faith. In other words, we hand them a stack of often contradictory instructions and call it care.

At some point the grieving person may want some of those things. But care does not begin with deciding what somebody else ought to do. It begins by being with them and listening to them long enough to discover what would actually help.

Just Care

Care can be remarkably ordinary. It may mean sitting on the couch. Bringing coffee. Taking the trash to the curb. Listening to the same story for the fourth time and not pointing out that you have already heard it three times. Sending a text that says, I was thinking about you today. Inviting them to dinner without making them feel guilty if they say no. Remembering the anniversary. Laughing when they laugh. Not panicking when they cry.  

And sometimes care means doing almost nothing. Just hanging out.

There is a temptation to think that unless we have said something profound or done something significant, we have not really helped. I do not believe that is true. Most grieving people I have cared for do not need somebody to swoop in and transform their life. They need people who keep showing up. People who pay attention. People who do not disappear because grief makes them uncomfortable. People who understand that what they needed Tuesday may not be what they need Friday.

That is care. Not fixing. Not managing. Not steering them toward whatever version of “better” makes me more comfortable. Just one agenda: caring for them.

Follow Their Lead

I think this may be one of the simplest ways to support someone who is grieving: Follow their lead. If they want to talk, listen. If they want silence, let there be silence. If they want to tell stories, ask questions. If they change the subject, change it with them. If they say no to dinner, do not take it personally. If they say yes next week, do not remind them that they said no last week.

And if they do not know what they need? That is OK too. You can say: “You don’t have to know. I just want you to know I care.”

That is a very different message from: “When are you coming back to help in the kitchen?”

One says, ‘When are you going to be useful again?’ The other says, ‘You don’t have to be anything for me right now. I’m here for you.’

Remember

Don’t assume. Don’t fix. Just care.

One Step Forward

Think of someone you know who is grieving. Before you decide what they need, ask. Not a giant question like, “What can I do?” Try something smaller: Would you like company today, or would you rather have some space? Do you want to talk about them, or would you rather talk about something else? Would it help if I brought dinner, or would that just be one more thing to deal with?

Then follow their lead.

Consider This

When you care for someone who is grieving, are you responding to what they actually need—or what you think they should need?

Until next week, remember: grieving people often do not know what they need. We certainly should not pretend that we do.

Don’t assume.

Don’t fix.

Just care.

Peace,
Tom