The Language of Grief: How We Can Do Better

Several weeks ago, I shared that I have been taking classes at UVM for the College of Medicine’s End of Life Doula program. Many said they wanted to know more about this and I promised to share. The program has been life changing, healing, beautiful, and at times, sad and very difficult. Overall though, it has been one of the most important things I have ever had the honor to be a part of to date. Being of service to others and empowering folks to live better, has always been at the core of my life’s work. For me, it only makes sense that this work should also include the end of life and death, as it is the most overlooked and under discussed part of our lives, yet it represents the biggest and most final event of it. End of life work is special and unique because it has the potential to transform both the present and the future. There is beauty and power in that, but only if we are willing to talk about it.

We don’t typically talk about death, the dying process, loss and grief in normal conversation. When we do it is normally considered more taboo and not looked at as an important part of our life’s journey even, though death, is the one thing we all have in common. All of us will die one day. Which means someone we love will also die. While we can’t stop death, loss, and grief from happening, we can normalize discussions about them. Talking about preparing for our own death and end of life journey, managing grief and loss, and learning how to support one another, can help make all of our living journeys better.  And in doing so, we create a culture that is more compassionate about recognizing these things and holding space for them. Rather than waiting to have these conversations until we are forced to, as a result of a diagnosis or traumatic event, leaving us with a reactionary response that can feel messy, devastating, angry, overwhelming, and out of our control, we could talk about these things now. Including death and loss and grief as part of the big and beautiful conversations we have about life and our shared humanity is better living.

I know this can feel hard for folks. My goal is to help make it a little easier by sharing my own experience with death and grief, specifically the type of grief experienced when someone we love dies and more importantly, exploring the language of that grief. How it sounds, how it feels to learn it, how to recognize when it’s being spoken and how to get more comfortable with it. Why? Because this is where I think we have the opportunity to affect positive change that not only improves how we are living right now, but also improves the end of life experiences that take place everyday all around us. You don’t have to be proficient or familiar in the language of grief to do better. You only need to know that this language exists and that people are speaking it all around you and they need your help with it. Much like you will need theirs when you find yourself on a grief journey of your own. Maybe you’re on that journey right now. If that’s the case, you are in good company, because I am on my grief journey too. Mine started almost 3 years ago on October 25, 2018 when my father suddenly died and it hasn’t stopped. It never will. 

Grief never ends, it just changes shapes and moves along with you. If someone you love has died, then you already know this. For those lucky enough to still have all of the people you love here with you, l want to help you serve your loved ones better. All of us are currently playing a role in someone’s grief journey. What we say, what we don’t say, what we do, what we avoid, all of it, factors into the language of grief. And we have the opportunity to not only normalize the language, but improve it, by making it less harmful, especially for grieving people. The language of grief isn’t going anywhere. One day we will all speak it.

We speak our grief in different ways and not just with our words. When someone we love dies, grief starts speaking for us. Grief is the most complex language we will ever come across and we will never be fluent in it, because grief is constantly changing. There is no standard alphabet or tenses or punctuation. We can’t look words up in a dictionary when we’re having troubling forming them, there is no lesson plan or notes to help us study, and pop-up quizzes and tests are constantly being given. The language of grief has many dialects and just because you start speaking it doesn’t mean that other grieving people will speak it the same way. The language itself will be unique, just like us. The grief I speak is my own, just like the grief you might speak will be yours. No matter how we speak it, grief rolls off our tongues and settles into our movements and attaches itself to our existence.

Sometimes when you’re speaking grief, it can feel like nobody hears you or understands what you’re saying, even if you think you’re speaking clearly. It’s frustrating and disheartening as you struggle with this new language. But along the way, hopefully you will find other grief speakers who can hear you. The ones who hear you tend to be the folks who already speak the language of grief because someone they love also died, or they have the intuitive gift to sense grief when it shows up. I’ve found it helpful to stick close to these folks. They’re special. Folks like this are not afraid to quietly sit with you in your grief, take your hand and say things like, “I love you”, “I know I can’t fix this for you, but I’d like to cry with you”, “I’ll be over to let your dogs out tomorrow afternoon”, “Can I bring you your favorite takeout tonight?”. They are the ones who call and leave you regular messages that say “You don’t need to call me back, I just want you to know I’m thinking of you” and maybe they seem to magically show up right when you need them the most. These are the folks who heard me speaking my grief and weren’t afraid to speak it back to me. 

For me, the language of grief has been incredibly hard because it is so opposite of the language of happiness that I was used to. One of the tricky things about the language of grief, and grief itself, is how it speaks for you whenever it wants to. It doesn’t care if you’re tired, happy, trying to run a business, out getting your groceries, struggling to maintain appearances, don’t want to speak it at all, or feeling like you’re done with it. It ebbs and flows like the changing tides and it can even go dormant and almost seem like you’ve forgotten how to speak it. Until one day, out of nowhere, maybe months or years later, it drops back in like an uninvited guest, ringing your doorbell yelling “Hello! I am here!” After someone we love dies, grief is always a part of us, even when we are in the midsts of trying to continue to live and create a life full of love. 

Grief is an echo of love. That’s why grief hurts us so much.

Over the last few weeks, my End of Life Doula classmates and I have been immersed specifically in the realms of loss and grief and reflecting on our own grief journeys. We’ve shared and we’ve listened and discussed what can be helpful and what is actually harmful. The language of grief is spoken differently from person to person. There is no one way or right way to speak it. Our grief can be loud and harsh, a soft whisper, or completely silent. The language of my grief has sounded like many things and I’ve spoken it in various ways. In the beginning, my grief spoke in the form of fear, when I avoided everyday things like going to the grocery store, or outings with friends, because I couldn’t bear running into someone who wanted to share their condolences over my father’s death. Grief was speaking when I rapidly lost 20 lbs, had no appetite and would forget to eat. Grief spoke in my sleep when I dreamt about my father and it spoke again every morning when I’d wake up to the nightmare that he was gone. (It still speaks like that sometimes, though not as often)  Grief screamed at me one day while I was driving glancing out my car window at the beautiful tress and feeling happy one moment then hysterically crying the next. Every day for almost 2 years straight, grief spoke in tears to me whenever it felt like it, even when I begged it to stop talking to me. It would vary, from brief but frequent muffled sobs into my pillow, to bigger, loud, snot dripping, heavy cries that were, more like screams that lasted a long time. Grief wouldn’t shut up.

Grief was a constant conversationalist when I was first started speaking it. It talked to me and I talked to it. It seemed like lots of people wanted to get in on the conversation too, a mix of fellow grief speakers and well-meaning friends and loved ones. Most of the time those conversations were welcomed. I don’t know what I would have done without everyone who wasn’t afraid to lean into the language of grief. My husband physically picking me up off the floor when I couldn’t stand and repeatedly making calls to friends to deliver unthinkable news and shopping for dresses for me to wear to my Dad’s services, folks standing in line for hours to pay respects, friends driving for hours to stand in line, cards, flowers, thoughtful meal deliveries, visits to sit with me so I didn’t have to be alone with no expectations of me engaging, social invitations to let me know I was included but understanding I would decline, daily texts with with no reply needed, a memory box of handwritten notes, shoveling my Mom’s stairs during snowstorms, a gift that gave me a way to physically channel my grief, hugs, and simple statements that just acknowledged my loss, these are just some of the ways people showed up and spoke grief with me. These were the kind of things that were helpful and healing to me. 

What wasn’t helpful or healing was platitudes of “Well he’s in a better place now”, “Wow, 75 is a great life”,  and “God has a plan”. Nor were things like “Are you feeling better now?” (as if I had a cold ), “Are you excited for the holidays?”(fully aware my Dad had just died 3 weeks ago), “How’s your Mom doing?”, (yet never once asking me how I was doing) All of these things landed hard, although I’m sure that’s not what was intended. People say the strangest things to you when you’re grieving. Some deflect from your grief by overwhelming you with stories about their own and what’s happened to them, perhaps in an attempt to relate. Others “should” all of over you with a list of things “you should try” doing to get over your grief. Then there are those who can’t handle your grief so they just change the subject and ignore the language of grief all together. Do they think it’s contagious, so best just to avoid it all together? Maybe it’s triggering for them? While all grief journeys are unique, I can tell you that no grieving person wants to hear or experience any of these things, when someone they love dies. This type of grief speaking hurts no matter the intent. Yet it happens all the time, because we are uncomfortable when people speak their grief. And I don’t share any of this to shame anyone or make you feel bad if you happen to have said or done any of these things in your life. I share it to help make it better for next time. Because there will be a next time, for all of us. 

Nobody is perfect and we will all make mistakes. If you make the mistake of starting down the path of saying/doing any of these things when you’re talking with a grieving person, stop yourself, acknowledge the misstep, apologize if you want and then just stop talking and start listening. While I don’t speak for every grieving person, most of us would prefer a simple “I don’t know what to say” or “I’m so sorry you are grieving” or maybe a hug or touch of our hand. Less is more sometimes. 

I suggest being patient too. Grief doesn’t have a timeline, once we learn the language it will always be a part of our vocabulary. My grief will be there with me at every holiday and milestone that my Dad is not. Grief lives in the joy I feel whenever I do things like; talk about my Dad, smell fresh paint, hear his favorite Elvis Presley song, watch a hockey game, take a walk on a beach, or listen to others say his name and share a funny story about him. Grief will speak to me every October for the rest of my life as I remember all of the “lasts” I got with my Dad, no matter how many years have passed or how happy I am. Grief will continue to speak anytime someone I love dies. 

Prior to my father’s death, I am sure I didn’t speak grief as well as I could have and I most likely made mistakes in my attempts to speak it when trying to support others on their grief journeys. But I’m better at it now. That is one of the peculiar things that happened to me on my grief journey. My grief took so much from me but it also gave me something too. It gave me an awareness, a sense of clarity and purpose, that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully explain. While I would much rather have my Dad back, I have been able to find space within my grief to be grateful for all that it has taught me. I have gotten better at learning the language of grief and how death fits into our life’s journey and I hope that you will try to get better at learning these things too. This is something we can all do and it doesn’t have to be as difficult as it historically has been.

Open dialogue and communication around death and grief is how we create a more compassionate culture and how we can do better at supporting each other through all stages of our living equally, whether it is the beginning of our journey, the end, or somewhere in the space in between. This is how we can help each other continue to live better, even in the face of death and grief. For all of my fellow grievers, no matter what it is you are grieving, your grief deserves to be recognized and heard. Maybe something from my grief journey resonated with you and made you feel less alone or got you to think differently. We grieve all sorts of things in this life, it’s not just reserved for when someone we love dies. Remember that. For those of you who have yet to experience the language of grief first hand and have felt uncomfortable in conversations about death and grief, perhaps you found something useful here and it inspires you to stay open so you can keep learning and doing better.