In the last six months, I’ve had seven friends lose their mothers unexpectedly, the most recent of which was this past Friday.
Seven friends. That boils down to *almost* once a month since the beginning of the year that I’ve gotten a phone call that a friend is in crisis.
Seven close friends who have gone through the unimaginable, unexpected, mind blowing pain of losing a parent.
With each phone call I have received about my friends and their losses, my very first reaction is always the crushing realization that I know what’s coming for them down the road.
The pain.
The heartache.
The “I want to rip everyone in this room a new one because my parent died and how can you be having fun in front of me” feelings.
The “I want to yell expletives in the grocery store because my parent left the planet and I can’t focus on the price of strawberries” urges.
And, with each phone call, I try to be like the friends I had when I lost my dad in October 2012.
The friend I didn’t know how to be UNTIL I lost my dad in October 2012.
Before my father passed away, I did all the things you are “supposed” to do when a friend loses a parent: send a card, send flowers, say a prayer. I asked every so often if my friend was okay and if they “needed anything” (God, I loathe that phrase…). I made an effort to “be there” for my friend but, in all honesty, I don’t know that I was all that helpful. Because, though I could sympathize, I couldn’t EMPATHIZE. I hadn’t walked the walk. Although my intentions were always kind and filled with sympathy, I didn’t “get” what it was to be a part of the “I Lost A Parent” club.
Then I joined the “I Lost A Parent Club” in October 2012. And membership did NOT have it’s privileges. It sucked. A lot. Big brass coated donkey balls of suck. I would give every fiber of my being to have my membership revoked and to never have to relive those immediate hours ever again. But, as I went through that horrible time, I had friends who extended kindnesses that had never, ever occurred to me to do for someone else in a time of need. I had acquaintances show up at my door with the most incredible expressions of sympathy that, even today, the thought almost brings me to my knees. As much as the pain was too hard to bear, I knew that I was learning. Learning through the pain so that, someday, I could pay it forward. Here’s what I learned:
Do SOMETHING, Anything: In the immediate hours and days after you lose your parent, YOU. CANNOT. THINK. At all. Nothing. No conscious thought runs through your head and, if you have a moment of clarity, that moment is steamrolled with a fresh wave of grief. Keeping your head in the upright position seems impossible, let alone packing for an out of town funeral. The laundry you thought you’d catch up on over the next few days suddenly becomes insurmountable and you need fresh clothes to go bury your father. If you are the friend, show up and just do. Don’t ask. Just do. Empty the dishwasher, handle the laundry, give your friend’s kids dinner. Show up and be “The Doer” because your friend just can’t. I had three beautiful friends show up on my doorstep within hours of my dad’s death. They did every stitch of laundry in my house, into the wee hours of the morning, and packed not only me, but the Fruit Loops’ suitcases as well. To this day, I can’t tell you what I wore over that week we said goodbye to my dad but I know I had everything I needed because I had The Doer friends.
Feed The Family, But Not Right Away: Admittedly, I bring food in pretty much to every life event/crisis my friends have. New baby? Here’s a lasagna! Breast cancer? Here’s a lasagna! Mom died? Here’s a lasagna! But what I learned after I joined “The Club” is that the food comes fast and furious in those first few days. So much so, it can’t be consumed fast enough and storage becomes overwhelming. And, frankly, having nine frozen lasagnas in the freezer makes someone not ever want to eat lasagna again (I still can’t). If you are like me and you “Feed The Crisis”, consider doing that for your friend a week or so after the dust settles, when the grief becomes so tangibly real that the thought of even operating a can opener seems paralyzing. I had a dear friend arrange to have breakfast sent to our house the morning of the funeral with a note that said “You will need your strength for today” and I cried not only because the bagels didn’t have marinara sauce but also because someone remembered to tell me to eat breakfast. I had a group of women show up at my home every day at 430p for a week with a hot, cooked non Italian meal ready to serve three weeks after he died. I needed the help with cooking the most when my house was quiet and I was alone with my thoughts all day. So, be the friend who shows up with a hot meal three weeks out. Trust me.
Don’t Send Flowers: This is kind of a touchy one, I know, but hear me out. For days after my father passed, we opened the door to beautiful, exquisite, amazing arrangements of flowers. We literally had hundreds of blooms in the house with all of the fresh cut flowers scattered around. And while it was a pretty sight to behold, I’m not gonna lie: it smelled EXACTLY like a funeral home (star gazer lilies, I’m looking right at you, my friend). And the ones sent to the funeral home just get lopped onto the grave in a heaping pile that looks nothing short of pathetic the next day. And, I know, I KNOW: flowers are what you DO when someone dies. They are a tangible way to say “your parent made a beautiful mark on this planet” and “when I think of your father, I think of peace in the form of a lily”. But, consider that the family will have to spend a lot of time throwing the arrangements away and it will be almost like a second death: when the flowers are gone, reality really sets in. Hard. This is not to say you should ignore the loss. Not by any means. But, when the family says, “in lieu of flowers”, respect it and honor it. Donations made in my father’s name to charities like The Jimmy Fund and The American Cancer Society mean the world to me. Because I didn’t have to throw the dead carcass of the donation into my garbage can…..
Know Your Friend: When you want to honor your friend’s loss, a lot of times, doing something that you know he or she will “hear” means the world. One of the dearest, most memorable gifts I was given after my dad passed had nothing to do with my dad. My friend’s dad knew I was having trouble getting back on the road for a run in the months after his passing. He knew that running meant the world to me and that I was devastated that my usual outlet didn’t bring me comfort. Being alone in my head during my runs became too hard and my running shoes remained empty. With a heartfelt note, he enclosed the receipt for registration to a race he knew I loved running. He told me he wanted to give me something to train for and said that he’d already arranged for his daughter and I to stay with him for the weekend of the race. He gave me hope that day in that letter and that beachside race was a PR for me. And, while I stood on the sand, hysterically crying because I couldn’t call my dad to tell him how I did, he hugged me and said, “It will get easier”. Hear what’s important to your friend and give it back to them. Help them find their groove again. My friend’s dad “fathered” me and “heard” my grief. It remains one of the kindest gestures I’ve ever received.
Be The “I Won’t Judge Friend”: We all say we are that friend. The one who “doesn’t judge”. But, when your friend is dealing with the loss of a parent, they are EXHAUSTING. I know I was. And still am, from time to time. The grief, the pain, the tears, the hurt, the anger, the outrage, it all comes out in verbal diarrhea. A lot. There are tears all. the. time. There are phone calls from the aisle of the grocery store because pasta sauce somehow reminds you of your dad. My best friend let me say anything and everything that was on my mind. She dealt with me using expletives like commas, phone calls where I was incoherent and some days, she’d just listen to me cry like a baby and let me hang up because that’s all I could give that day. My running friends had to endure my horrid, wickedly angry self and they would run at my “I’m angry at the world” pace in a show of solidarity. But they kept answering the phone. And showing up for runs. And they loved me through it. They knew I’d be back and they let me show them the ugly, hurt, damaged fibers of myself. And they let me say the F word. A ton. So, be the friend who answers and listens beyond the F word. Be the friend who whispers “I know you hate everyone right now” when you hug so tightly they know you won’t let go until they are ready. And say the F word with them. No judgement here.
I’m not an expert. I don’t have a degree in grief counseling. I am just a girl who lost her dad and had amazing acts of kindness shown to me in my darkest hours. I’m just a friend who is watching my dear friends go through an awful journey that I didn’t know existed until 2012. And I hope they know that I hear them and that I’m always that gal who will say the F word with them. Because the F word helps. And I know it.
36 Responses
Well said my friend. XOXOXO
Thank you, my “Doer” friend <3
This is very timely for me and a band of my pals, Christine. Our friends’ dad died very unexpectedly and for some, this is their first experience with such a tragic loss. Your words are going to be very helpful and I’m sharing them with everyone–thank you!
I’m so sorry, WCME….I noticed you posted about your friend’s dad….thank you for sharing my piece and I hope it brings comfort to you and your friends. Hugs.
A good read, glad you made it through, and can help others
Thank you, Mr. G!
Great piece! The F word does help. Personally, I am honored when a friend messages me randomly to recall a funny thing my Dad once did, providing me with a welcome memory. Too often, I think folks are afraid to mention him because it might make me sad. (They’re right. It will make me a little sad.) But more importantly, I will have shared a moment of my day reflecting with someone else about what made my Dad special. Chances are good I’m thinking of him anyway, so please, mention him! I’m sorry about all the recent inductees to this reluctant club.
Kara, I totally agree…I love random emails from friends about my dad, too. Makes me realize his reach went far beyond my life. Thanks for reading!
This says it all. Every single person could use this advice. Bing the daughter of a funeral director & a nurse, I usually take death very well. But the personal side takes you on a whole different ride & when you can’t always get to the services or are not nearby to help physically, these tips are spot on! Thank you!
Kolleen- I hear you on the nurse thing (not so much on the daughter of a funeral director thing)… Thank you for your kind words, my friend 🙂
I’m not a member of the club, but this really hit me. Thank you for writing it … So that I can be a better friend to those who need me.
Sharing. For sure.
Real Life, you are already a great friend…I’m touched my piece moved you. Hugs.
It’s such a difficult situation because everyone responds to and deals with grief in their own way. I have a 27-year-old friend who has lost both her parents to cancer and many others who are dealing with/have dealt with the loss of one or both parents themselves. No matter what you do or say, it sounds trite, but they just need to know that you are there. Great reminder.
So true, Abby…I had several friends stay away because they didn’t want to do the wrong thing for me. Just show up. Just be. Just hug. Just do. Even trite. It’s something.
This helps me a lot. I haven’t lost a parent and hope not to anytime soon but I’ve had a lot of people close to me that have, including my husband. This is wonderful information because I just feel like I have no idea what to do. Love you so much.
Back at ya, DOM…I’m sure you have been an incredible support for your hubby…like I said, just be. Just do. Just hug.
This is a wonderful post full of very helpful information. Thank you for being such a wonderful friend. xoxo
Back at ya, Foxy….back at ya, my dear friend!! XOXOX
Wow – what a great piece. I am going to share this everywhere because someday it will be my turn to make the phone call and I want them to know what to do to help. Thank you!
Lynn, I hope that phone call is years and years and years off for you, my friend…and may you not get any crisis calls from your friends, either!! xo
Hi Chris,
You did a great job on your writing of what it felt like to lose a parent….I too, just one day out of the blue lost my Dad…he was only 57 yrs. old…We always know that as we get older a parent of ours will pass away but it hits you like a bulldozer when it really happens to you! I guess it is something we all will go through as our parents don’t live forever…but what we learn from our parents is something we will always be able to cherish! Your Dad would be proud of you…Love Auntie Cyndi
Aw, Auntie Cyndi….shucks….thank you so much and I know how much you loved your dad. I know he’s so proud of his little girl!!
Thank you for writing and paying it forward, we all can learn to be a supportive and more loving friend…life lessons 🙂
It’s all about pay it forward and I’m grateful every single day for my tribe of strong, caring women around me!!
Oh gosh Christine, beautiful post. Five of my friends have lost fathers in the last six months. Chills me to the bone. I love that you wrote this x
Miss Prabulous, it’s amazing the parallels we have in our lives halfway around the world from each other, no? Hugs to you as the good friend and to your dear friends who have lost their parents….
Absolutely beautiful post, Christine. So touching.
I am HONORED to have you as a friend. I will forever remember you being at my house within days of losing my beautiful mother. With chocolate….. 😉 I will need you in the next days, weeks, months, years. And I will probably say the f word. a lot. So thank you. I WILL be a better nurse, mother, friend because of this. as soon as my heart re enters my body. Your words mean so much. Thanks.
So true! In 2011 my husband and I both lost our fathers, his Oct 1 mine Dec 23. In turn our child quickly lost 2 grandparents. Your piece reminds me of another life event, the birth of your first child. One of my good friends was first to have a baby. We, the single or engaged, responsible only for ourselves, work and our social calendar friends, did the check in phone calls, visits etc. When my first child was born I call her and apologized upside down and inside out for begin so inconsiderate and such an ass. We should have been there doing the laundry, bringing the meal a month after the fact etc. Some things we just have to go through in order to know better.
Christine, my sympathies. I lost my Dad in 2006 and Mom in October 2012, too. Your piece should be required reading for anyone who CAN read……what struck me most is the how…How did your friends know what to do? I’ve found that unless someone is a member of this “club”, they haven’t the foggiest as to what to say or do. I’m very glad you had them at the worst time in your life. I subsisted on fast food and Cheetos for a month. Not a great diet for a middle aged woman to follow….I recently discovered your blog and am now a devoted follower. Be well, and thanks for sharing your work!
I just lost my Mom this past March. So much of what you have written hit home with me. i am continually amazed at my friends who have been there for me, and the friends on my parents who are there for my Dad and even me. I am truly grateful beyond words to all of them, and I will be that friend! You are right, you don’t understand until you have been through it. And this club sucks 🙁
My mother’s death 2 years ago was hard, but I weathered through it. She was 88, and ready to go, her quality of life had greatly lessened. I cried as I made the phone calls, telling her relatives and friends she was gone.
but my husband’s death in March has knocked me to my knees. He was 57, and we had such great hopes that a stem cell transplant would bring the cure, that he would come back to his former self, gain back the weight that fell off him leaving him so awfully thin. The reminders of what I miss are everywhere. I look at his watch on the dresser every morning, and his slippers on the floor. I come home from work every night to an empty house, and there’s not a day that something hasn’t made me cry. For most, a parent does not live with you, but the emptiness of losing a husband is always here, in my face. A part of me is waiting for him to come home still, so I can tell him about this or that, silly, every day life things that make up the fiber of a relationship. The irony is, I can’t tell my best friend about all this, because HE was my best friend, and now he’s gone…
Wow, this is powerful. Thank you for this. I’m currently in the phase of my life where I’m watching my Dad’s health deteriorate rapidly and I know that he’s living on borrowed time. I’m also watching as friends are beginning to lose their parents. Your story has brought many things to light and I so appreciate it.
And, most importantly, I’m very sorry for your loss.
This is great. I lost my dad in May of last year. He suffered a major heart attack at the age of 50. We talked everyday on the phone. Sometimes 3 or 4 times a day. He was my rock. I still reach for the phone to call him. I’m still trying to recover from the loss of my little brother who passed in Feb of 2014. He was only 27. It will be 2 years since he’s been gone on the 4th. My dad would have turned 51 just a few days ago. I’m having a rough week, but I’ll be ok. I have to be. I really enjoy your blog and your Facebook posts. Keep up the great work.
I was 18 when my mom, 38 died. And I have lost my father and my husband. As I read through this I find your words and thoughts perfect. And I am sad because not once through these deaths has anyone done this for me. But you can know in your heart I have done them all. O.k. not the running… 🙂 I am saving this to pass on to “friends” that need to hear this. Thank you so much!!!
Yes….