I’m glad Halloween is done and past. I am afraid of my own shadow sometimes, so the spooky and creepy aspect of this day is not my thing.
When I was little, I joined my older sisters in dressing up in our costumes, often completed with plastic masks. Like most children of the ‘70s and ‘80s, I didn’t really like wearing the ensemble. The costume itself was hot and uncomfortable, and the eyeholes on the mask were never quite right. Pulling the mask over my face made was unbearably hot. And those elastic bands… they were never meant to be put over long, curly hair. Needless to say, I much preferred wearing itchy make-up to wearing a mask.
The dreaded costume and mask.
Look at those tiny little nose holes! How did we ever manage to breathe with these things on?!
Three years ago I found myself wearing a different kind of mask. It’s one that I have worn off and on throughout my life. This mask never fits quite right, and often it can make breathing difficult. I would prefer to take this mask - my grief mask - off, but the people around me would prefer that I keep the mask on. Doing so makes it easier for us to interact - when we both pretend like the grief I’m carrying isn’t there.
For those who carry grief, you recognize this mask. It’s what we pull over our faces so others can think we are doing fine. It’s the mask we pull down when we know others expect us to be fine, but we’re not.
If you are grieving, you know the scenario. The person you’re talking with spends the whole conversation skirting around your loss. They’re not meaning to be uncaring. They’re just afraid you’ll fall apart if you talk about your loss. They’re afraid they won’t know what to respond. They’re afraid they’ll make your grief worse. They’re afraid of saying or doing the “wrong” thing, and so they say, and do, nothing at all.
This discomfort and fear is understandable. It’s hard to enter into another’s personal space, especially when that space has been compromised with grief. It can be hard to even know if it’s okay to enter that space. Is too personal, too recent, or too painful to talk about? Or perhaps weeks and months have passed and you’re supposed to be over the loss.
If you aren’t sure what to say to someone who is grieving, there are some things that those of us who are living with grief want you to know:
It’s ok to talk to us. Our loss is never far from our mind anyway. Talking about it is like a release valve for our grief.
It’s ok to say our person’s name. We love hearing others remember them as well.
It’s ok to ask how we are making it through these days. Just be prepared for our honest response.
It’s ok to ask how our family is making it. We appreciate it that you are concerned for them as well.
It’s ok to acknowledge that what has happened sucks. We think it does too.
It’s ok to not know what to say or how to respond. We don’t really need you to say anything. Simply giving us the chance to talk is huge.
It’s okay to not have a Bible verse to offer us. You are being Jesus when you sit with us, and that’s enough.
If we cry, know that it’s not a reflection on you. It’s because we have loved and lost.
At the same time, we need you to not be offended if we don’t want to talk. It can be hard for us to share. The time and place just may not be right at that moment. Don’t let that stop you from checking in again later.
Don’t feel like you have to “fix” us if we are struggling with our faith. We are hurting, and we are likely already being honest with God about those struggles. If you want to help us, say a prayer or two when you think about us. And then trust us in God’s care.
One of the greatest gifts a grieving person can receive is that of a listening ear, and an acknowledgement that our lives have been dramatically altered. These acts of compassion help moor us in the midst of chaos.
Much like that little girl who outgrew the Halloween masks, I am outgrowing my grief mask. I have grown weary of trying to pretend that my losses are not still having an impact today. Not all the time, though. Not everyone needs to know my story.
If you are wearing a grief mask, my prayer is that you will find someone with whom you can take it off around. May they offer you space, love, and acceptance for your pain. And ay the grace and arms of Christ wrap around you and remind you that you are never alone.
Peace,
Denise
If you are walking with grief, I would be honored if you would join me at our Living with Loss Retreat at Camp Loucon, November 20-22. More information about it, as well as a link to register can be found here.
