I didn’t think I’d have to do this. We have to revisit how to talk and how not to talk to a person experiencing deep loss?
Again?
Apparently we do. This became painfully obvious recently.
But really, after all this time–coming up on five years–spent coping with the loss of my spouse to Alzheimer’s Disease, of caregiving, of coping and coping, and I am again blown away by the–how shall I say this?–lack of sensitivity on the part of too many others, people I thought were on my side, on my husband’s side, people I thought cared.
Deep breaths. It happens.
Let’s begin with three don’ts.
Do not abandon
At some time or another each of us will not rise to our own standards. We will let someone down. It happens. Correct your course; don’t keep repeating your silence. Just show up–when, where, and how you can–and apologize for your absence.
Call. Write. Email. Message. Send a card. Send an ecard. Send flowers or a plant or food, if you want. Visit. Inquire. Show interest. Ask how you might help.
Why do so many find this hard?
I believe it’s fear. Anything cognitive–mental illness, suicide, addiction, brain injury, stroke, dementia, etc.–still, today, has stigma attached to it. Why, I do not know; it’s not like these are contagious diseases!
All the major losses I’ve experienced in recent years–my brother’s suicide six years ago, my older brother’s recent death from Lewy Body Disease, and my husband’s slow dying from Alzheimers’ Disease–carry a stigma that other diseases do not. Which in turn makes the road one walks with them even harder, scarier, and more lonely.
Don’t participate in this. Just show up.
Do not assume that you know what another is experiencing
You do not.
Unless you are in the privileged position of being a very close confidant with the person suffering, you do not know.
Do not instruct. Do not tell them what to do, or when, or why. Do not pontificate, do not mansplain (do not womansplain!), do not condescend, do not attempt to educate, and do not inform them of the “true nature” of their situation.
Say what?
Can you imagine saying stuff like this to the spouse of someone dying from any other disease, say, cancer?
Why do we inflict these attitudes on people? Again, I believe that the answer lies in fear on the part of the speaker, and their desire, conscious or not, to shut down the suffering friend or relative, thereby easing their own fear that arises when they listen.
Is this is how we want to treat our friends and relatives who are suffering?
Not I. Don’t do this!
Do not dominate the conversation with someone who is suffering
Do not inquire, show interest, ask for information about either the caregiver, or the person with the diagnosis, and then tune them out. It’s remarkable how often this happens.
By interrupting. By interjecting digressions. By shifting the topic to yourself. By changing the topic to your experience with dementia–your parent, grandparent, aunt, what you’ve read on the subject, what you recently heard on radio or a podcast!
How does this help the person you are standing opposite, whose life has been shattered by a dementia diagnosis?
It doesn’t.
What this behavior does do, again, is shut down the person suffering, the person about whom you claim to care. It’s shifted them into not only the role of your listener, but, often, of showing empathy and concern for you.
This is not an experience limited to dementia, however, this might occur more often in the context of dementia. If you find yourself doing this, you might want to talk to someone about it as this behavior suggests that you need to be listened to yourself, and to work on processing your own grief.
So, then, what should we do when trying to show support for someone suffering?
Stay in touch
Even the littlest bit of contact helps. If you’ve let time lapse, apologize and jump back in when you can.
As mentioned, any and all contact is usually good. Don’t worry so much about offending; listen, take the other in, offer sympathy, and, if appropriate, offer help.
Just show up.
Listen
Listening is an art. It needs to be learned and practiced, like all arts. Listening requires something quite remarkable: it requires that we put aside, for a while, our own concerns, our egos, and our fears. Not deny them. Not forget them. Just set them off to the side, like an unwanted glass at a table, for a bit, while we attempt to enter into someone else’s world.
It’s remarkable how many of us struggle with this, and well into later life. Practice and it gets easier. Remind yourself that you will come back to all of your own concerns. But that, for now, you are listening to another.
And that doing so is a powerful gift that you are giving to another.
Refrain
On pain of certain death, excommunication, or ostracism, refrain from becoming instructive, judgmental, bossy, or critical of someone who is suffering.
This is not your role! Your role is that of supportive friend, relative, or neighbor. Not teacher. Not judge and jury.
Remember that you likely have not earned the right to act in this manner with this person. It might sound strange, but we have to earn the right to instruct another. And it doesn’t come cheap or easy!
Quiet down, listen, or as it’s said on social media, STFU
Giving comfort to someone in deep pain is a great deal like dancing. Or skipping rope together. Or belaying sheer rock face with a climbing partner. Or like merging onto a busy highway. Or like making love.
You have to learn how to coordinate time and need and movement. Yours, and that of the other. When to halt, when to move, how to move, how to listen. To yourself and to the other. How to quiet your own mind and needs so that you can hear the other.
This is not easy while our own ego screams for attention, time, the spotlight. But if we are going to be there for one another when illness, loss, and death comes calling–and it does, it will, for all of us–we need to learn how to quiet our own minds, and take in the energy of another.
It’s either this, or go it alone.
I know what my preference is.
WellCraftedToo 