How to Feel and Help Better
Grow Through What You Go Through
As most readers know, my dad died last month, so the topic of how to feel and help better has been on my mind. We become better people—deeper, more courageous and caring, and less selfish—by facing our own struggles as best we can, and by relieving others’ struggles with open hearts. In this post, I’ll share my thoughts about what is helpful for those who are grieving or are facing serious health or family challenges (plus a few gentle suggestions for what not to do). I hope that you will share your own ideas in the comments too.
How to Feel Better
Go outside and take a walk. In Jewish tradition, at end of the seven days of shiva, families take a walk around the block to “symbolize mourners’ slow reentry into the outside world.” But you don’t have to be Jewish (or religious) to benefit from the healing power of nature.
Even if there is no beautiful scenery handy, going outside is still restorative. Breathe deep, watch children play in the park, listen to the birds or the whoosh of cars, and (as the kids say) touch grass.
Have a little treat. What is something you find especially delicious? Maybe it’s chocolate, or fresh berries, or a taco, or—if you’re me—a slice of cheese. Heck, my daughter’s little treat is kale (here is my recipe).
Ignore the naysayers. You need this. Have your little treat.
Delight all your senses. If you don’t particularly feel like eating right now, try smelling something lovely, looking at something that is your favorite color, listening to beautiful music, or touching something soft. Speaking of which,
Pet an animal. After our basset hound died, our neighbors gave us carte blanche to come into their yard to pet and play with their golden retriever, Birdie. We availed ourselves of this offer many times, and Birdie—and our neighbors’ generosity—got us through our loss.
Talk honestly about what is happening and how you’re feeling. It’s ok to say you’re sad, confused, frightened, or angry. You don’t have to protect your friends from your darker emotions; true friends can take it.
Or don’t talk about it. After my dad’s funeral, my uncle came back to the house with us. Like me, he is an avid outdoor adventurer. We talked about hiking and biking in the mountains. Our conversation was a welcome temporary distraction from grief.
Help someone else. It may sound counterintuitive, but we can lighten our own burdens by relieving those of others. Many years ago, our newborn son was afflicted with reflux and cried several hours a day. This was every bit as wretched for everyone as you are imagining. After his diagnosis and successful treatment, I shared information about infant reflux—and our doctor’s phone number—with several friends whose babies were also crying around the clock. Helping my friends was not only empowering, but, strangely, also made me feel as though I was retroactively helping myself.
And, speaking of helping, let’s turn to our next topic:
How to Help Better
Show up. It’s tempting to think that our presence doesn’t matter. Surely in the midst of all the chaos and crowds and comings and goings, the family won’t even notice whether we’re there? I am embarrassed to admit that I used to think this way. But showing up means the world to people who are having a tough time. I was deeply touched that three of my oldest friends came to Dad’s funeral, especially because I knew that it was inconvenient and even difficult for them to get there. Cousins drove in from neighboring states. My aunt flew in from Singapore. A man who had been our family’s paperboy way back in the 1970s came to honor my parents’ kindness to him when he was a child. When you show up, we do notice, and we are moved and comforted.1
Listen. A few hours before Dad died, my mom was alone with him, and a hospice nurse came to sit with her. She asked my mom for stories about Dad and listened attentively to my mom for an hour or so. Whatever our friends are going through, we can offer them this patient attention.
Just say yes. Your loved one may ask you to do something for them. It is a blessing to say yes. We want to be kind and supportive, and their request has given us a way to fulfill this basic human desire. Sometimes it’s an easy task: When a close friend’s dad died, I was happy to spend the day of the funeral playing with her two young children. Sometimes it’s a big ask: My father-in-law, Jerry, died on the first day of Rosh Hashanah, and Jewish law requires that the funeral take place after the holiday is over—which meant that for two days, we needed people to sit with and say prayers over Jerry. Friends agreed to take two-hour shifts, all through the night.
Change the air filter. But sometimes the suffering person is too overwhelmed to come up with jobs for us. When this is the case, we can look around, find something useful to do, and do it. In our family’s case, after Dad died, it was as though a poltergeist, who had been held at bay by Dad’s handyman prowess, was unleashed, and everything in the house started breaking down. My husband saw that the air filter for the HVAC suddenly needed changing, figured out how to do it, and took care of the problem.
A few other examples of quotidian chores we can take on:
We received more than a dozen floral arrangements, and when they started to droop, my aunt pruned and refreshed them.
During a shiva visit, I noticed that a friend of the bereaved family was going around the house with a big trash bag, cleaning up all the plates and cups. Another was washing dishes and packing up food.
One fall morning, when our neighbors were away at a funeral, I spotted the town’s leaf-picker-upper truck2 down the street. Uh oh—they hadn’t raked their yard yet! So I raced out and raked up the leaves, just in time for the truck to scoop them up.
Bring food (but please, for all that is good and holy, no dessert). Everyone else has brought dessert already. I promise, dessert is covered. What the family needs is good, healthy, basic food, and if you bring that, they will be grateful forever. I mean that literally: It has been more than two decades since Jerry died, and I still think fondly of the friends who cooked us a lovely dinner—and cleaned up afterwards—and of the friend who brought a few days’ worth of prepared meals for our toddler.
It is especially kind when you keep dietary issues in mind. My brother’s friends remembered that I am a vegetarian, and so they brought over a terrific homemade quinoa salad for me. A neighbor brought minestrone soup, which was vegan, and she took the trouble to cook the pasta separately in case anyone in the house couldn’t eat gluten.3
Drop in for twenty minutes. Yes, I am laying down the law on this one. Twenty minutes only, and not one minute more. I know you drove a long way. I know it’s been a while since you’ve seen each other and you want to make up for lost time. But studies show that a conversation is like Paradise Lost; in Samuel Johnson’s words, “None ever wished it longer.” Keep an eye on the time and get up to leave after twenty minutes. If your friend hangs around the door, prolonging the conversation, that is your signal that they want you to stay longer. But if they don’t, that is your signal to skedaddle.
No response needed. Two dear friends who have gone through terrible health crises—their own and their parents’—taught me an important lesson when they prefaced their supportive messages to me with “no response needed.” They both understood that when we’re struggling, sometimes it can feel like too much even to message someone back. Because of their consideration, their messages were purely supportive, not stressful.
Relatedly, we need to stop expecting thank you notes from bereaved, ill, suffering, and struggling loved ones. Longtime readers will remember my animus against thank you notes; I think they are an occasion of sin. Burdensome as thank you notes are for brides, new moms, graduates, and the like, they are a veritable affliction for people who are coping with severe challenges. It is wrong to cling to protocol at times like this, and to expect devastated or seriously ill people to deal with the hassle of shopping for cards and stamps, writing scores—or hundreds—of personal notes, digging up everyone’s current mailing addresses, and hand-addressing the envelopes.
Readers, can we start a movement to release people from thank-you-note duty in these situations? I think we should add a “no response needed” line to our messages of comfort. And when we send flowers or food, make donations, and perform other kind acts, we can include the following disclaimer: “Please don’t send me a thank you note, but the next time we get together, I’d love a hug.” After all, wouldn’t most of us prefer a hug to a thank you note that’s just going to be tossed into the recycling?
Share your talents. Is there something you’re especially good at? Perfect! Make a gift of your talent to someone who needs cheering up. A family friend, Duayne, is a singer and pianist. He played at Dad’s funeral, encouraged us all to sing out, and enhanced the beauty and meaning of the service.
Be cheerful. As the saying goes, we never know what other people are going through, so we can help make the world a better place by being kind to everyone we encounter. The morning after Dad died, I stopped by our local Caribou Coffee4 (I was out of coffee, and my caffeine addiction yields to nothing and no one). The worker who served me was so peppy, friendly, and kind that she brightened a very dark day. Someone out there might need our smile. So why not smile at everyone, just in case?
How about you, readers? What are your best tips for feeling and helping better? Please share your thoughts in the comments!
The Tidbit
Duayne chose “When the Saints Go Marching In” for the end of the funeral, which sent us out celebrating Dad’s well-lived life. As Louis Armstrong says, “Here’s one you all can sing with us.”
And of course we understand if you aren’t able to be there in person. Sending a note is a way of showing up too.
I am sure there is an official name for this truck, but I have no idea what it is.
As it happens, none of us is gluten-free, but we were happy to discover that if you keep the pasta separate and add it at the table instead of boiling it in the soup, the leftover minestrone won’t be gummy and gooey the next day.
I love that Minnesota has resisted the lure of Starbucks and Dunkin’ and stays loyal to its home-grown coffee chain.
I feel like I do grieving “wrong” — both the experiencing of it and particularly the sympathy/empathy part. Thanks for writing this! I’m not looking forward to the day I will need to refer back to it but I know it will come again.
I so, so, so agree with you about the no thank you notes rules following funerals or other serious events. I have never expected that, and feel like it's gravy when I receive one and hope the person sent it because they wanted to connect. It's cruel and unusual to hold grudges against the grieving for not acknowledging one's gift, effort, etc. We help because it's the right thing to do. So sorry for what you're going through. Hugs!!!!!