Sit With Them

I can't remember if I've mentioned this already, but I am currently editing my best friend's book. It's called Carry On Castle, it's beautiful and brilliant, and it's all about grief.

Grief is something that, on one level or another, we are all familiar with. Jenny's book is about the  earth shattering Grief that showed up, along with her hideous friends Rage and Anxiety, after the death of her husband. You might not have ever experienced something that wretched and horrible. I hope you haven't. I haven't. But we have all experienced something.

When Jesse and I were in the let's-make-babies stage of life, we had some trouble. It was unexpected; I got pregnant the first month we decided to start trying, and Brofessor was born ten months later. After that, though, there were some issues. First I had a miscarriage. Then I had another miscarriage. Then I had a third miscarriage, and just as we were about to go and talk to a fertility specialist, our insurance changed and infertility services were no longer covered.

So we kept trying. Eventually we found out that I was expecting Creato-Girl, and that was wonderful and miraculous. But pregnancy after loss is scary and exhausting and scary some more. And people say stupid things like,

"Be grateful for what you already have!" and "At least you know you can get pregnant!"

When Creato-Girl was a year old, we decided to try again. Miscarriage. Then another miscarriage, at Christmas-time, just at the end of the first trimester when we thought it was safe to tell people. Then another, and another. Four miscarriages in a row. I had never even heard of anyone having that many miscarriages, although now I have.

Eventually I saw an amazing naturopath (our insurance, like a LOT of insurance, did not cover fertility services) and she figured it out and fixed it, which is why we have a Robo-Kid and a Honeybee. But pregnancy and birth, for our family, was forever tainted by grief. We will always wonder who those babies might have been.

I know you understand grief too. Maybe you've lost a parent or a grandparent; most of us have by the time we are in our thirties. Maybe you've been divorced, or lost a pregnancy. Maybe you've lost a beloved pet, or had a friend that you loved ghost you. Grief is a part of life and it is a part of love, and if you have known love, you know what it feels like when that love is taken away.

So because I know that you know, and we all know, this is not going to be another "what not to do when trying to help a grieving person" post.

This is going to be a what TO do when you are trying to help a grieving person post.

Because what NOT to do isn't helpful. You know grief. We all know grief. And we already know that the worst thing to do is nothing, but when you're on the outside, you're so paralyzed with the not wanting to do or say the wrong thing that you often DO do nothing. I've been guilty of it. I don't want to say the wrong thing so I don't say anything at all. I don't want to do the wrong thing so I don't do anything. We have all done this, and we've all had it done to us.

But the best thing to do is also the simplest, and it is something that every single one of us can do for our grieving person. Ready? Three words: sit. with. them.

That's it. Your person's person died? Your person got a divorce? Your person lost their job? Go sit with them. You don't have to say anything. Sometimes it's better if you don't. Go sit. Hold their hand or hug them if they want to be touched. Just sit, if they don't. If they want to rage and scream, sit there. If they want to throw things, sit there. If they want to talk, sit and listen. If they want to be silent, just sit.

You don't even have to bring anything, although I like to cook so I usually bring food. Soup is nice. One of my friends brought me plants after one of my miscarriages, which was good because I wanted to go outside and pour my sadness into gardening. But also? She sat with me.

Sitting with your person tells them that you value them, and that you are not afraid of their grief. It tells them that they shouldn't be either, because even though it feels like it, their grief doesn't mean they've lost everything. They've lost something important, but they haven't lost you. And that means a lot.

You don't even have to be a super close friend to go and sit with a grieving person. You can sit just as easily with a co-worker as you can with your best friend. Just go. Sit. Bring food, or don't. Bring gifts, or don't. But bring yourself. Yourself is the most important thing to bring.

Some grief requires more sitting than others, obviously. Someone who is ruthlessly downsized at work might only need a day or two of sitting. Someone whose husband dies needs a lot. That's okay. Sit when you can, and don't feel guilty about not being able to. Nobody wants that. Guilt doesn't benefit anyone.

Occasionally (and this is very rare) you might come across a grieving person who does NOT want to be sat with. They might want to be alone. Or they might want only a few people to sit with them. This is, of course, completely fine. But it is far more common to have a grieving person not want to bother anyone. If this is the case, go sit anyway. If you aren't sure, ask. Ask the grieving person, or ask their family and friends. Personally, I would probably just go anyway. It's like that scene in The Fellowship of the Ring when Frodo tells Samwise that he's going on alone, and Sam says,

"Of course you are! And I'm going with you!" You can be alone and still have someone sitting with you. Be the person that someone can be alone with. Be Samwise.

We all grieve. We all love. And sometimes the most loving thing you can do is to just sit.