Grief is disorienting and confusing for everyone. It can completely shatter our daily life and alter how we perceive the world forever. Grief can be an isolator or a connector, and I’ve let both happen.

I’m writing this in the hopes that you can welcome grief into your life as a challenging but connecting experience. The love and support that I’ve received in this season of grieving has deepened my devotion to strengthening community relationships.

When my dad died eleven years ago, I wished that someone handed me a pamphlet of what to do next. I wished my friends in high school had to listen to a powerpoint presentation of how to support a griever. I wished there were books with step by step instructions of how to process grief. After a few years passed, I thought about writing one.

This post is my first stab at it.

Eleven years without my dad and ten months without my partner Ian has taught me a lot about grief and even more about support.

What I write about supporting grievers is not meant to be an all around “guide” that will work for everyone. What works for me may not work for others. My goal of writing this is to provide you with a framework of what to think about when you want to comfort someone who is grieving, as well as share what personally worked for me.

Love Languages

The first thing that I think about when I want to support someone who is grieving is what their love language is, meaning how does this person most like to receive love?

If you are unfamiliar with the five love languages (words of affirmation, quality time, physical touch, acts of service, and gifts), you can learn about them by clicking this link.

The reason it’s important to consider love languages is because we so desperately want to help our friends and families who are grieving. But if we don’t consider how they will best receive the love we want to give, our attempts will be futile or could even be damaging.

The way I receive love best is through quality time, so anyone that came to visit and spend time with me through seasons of grief made the biggest impact on me.

Physical touch is quite low on the love list for me, so often times hugs were not helpful or wanted unless I felt very close with that person. But for someone with a high need for physical touch, holding their hand or wrapping your arm around them may be all they need to feel loved.

This guide is intended to help you find ways to give your love/sympathy/compassion in the least aggressive way that does not require too much of the griever.

Expect lower executive functioning skills

What I noticed most about this round of grief was how low my executive functioning skills were following Ian’s death. My memory felt scrambled, time management went out the window, planning for the future felt impossible, along with decreased function to organize, prioritize tasks, meet goals, and stay focused for a long time.

Any amount of compassion given to a griever for being late, forgetful, and disorganized will go a long way.

If you want to get real nerdy with it, read about the science of grief and executive functioning skills here.

Support from afar

Most of my friends and family are scattered across the country, but I have felt more connected to them than ever since Ian died.

What helped me feel close to them:

• Voice memos (not the same as voicemails). This was single handedly my favorite thing that people did for me. Due to decreased executive functioning skills, finding time to talk on the phone was stressful for me. Constantly missing calls only added stress and self-loathing thoughts, but the voice memos someone sent were wonderful because I could listen to them anytime and respond anytime. Voice memos are better than texts because the emotion comes through when you can hear your friend’s voice, and the pressure to keep the conservation going was lifted. Friends sent me voice memos that lasted anywhere from 2-6 minutes, updating me on their life and feelings. I could also keep the voice memos and listen to them repeatedly.
• Mail/emails– Reading letters was also wonderfully passive for me, because again I could read and respond on my own timeline. Phone calls and texts have the immediate response connotation that wasn’t helpful for me.
• Playlists– several people made playlists for me that were themed around grief, love, anger, and death. These songs got me through some of the darkest of days. And it was helpful to listen to new music or artists I hadn’t heard of.

Hand written letters, emails, and voice memos fed my love language of receiving words of affirmation.

Quality time

Be a witness to someone’s grief. You don’t have to say the right thing or say anything at all. You certainly cannot “fix” anything or take away the pain. Just your presence can soothe the griever, it helped me feel less alone in my grief.

This can look really different, so it may be helpful to ask the griever what they consider quality at this point. For me, it was NOT going out to eat in public restaurants, because I didn’t feel like I had the space to cry if emotions came up. The background noise was overwhelming and the pressure to keep it together in public spaces was no longer quality to me.

The best form of quality time was going outside for a walk with a loved one.

Go outside

As someone supporting a griever, I suggest going for a walk, sit on the porch, or make an effort to watch the sunset with your grieving friend.

Just taking time to be outside with a griever is important because it gets us connected with the real world. The seasons, the birds, the weather, the air temperature- it’s all a part of something larger than ourselves that can help us feel connected.

At first, when Ian died the outdoors seemed a bit dull, as if the color palette was turned down on low battery. It didn’t immediately illicit the same exciting feelings that I was used to.

Getting into the body and out of the emotional thinking brain was important for me every day. Smelling the fresh air, feeling the wind or sun on my skin, touching the sand with my toes.

Walking has saved my life many times, and having a dog to motivate me to go outside helped me keep living.

One important thing to note is that the griever may not be able to perform at their best. For me, even though I love backpacking, it felt like too much at first. I needed to sleep in my bed and have comfort, even though I typically love camping. Going outside with a griever doesn’t have to be the most epic adventure, but it can be if they’re feeling up to it.

When I was deep in grief, I told myself, “It’s better to sit outside on a rock than to sit inside on the couch.”

Talk about the loved one who has passed

This one is tricky, because for some people it’s the last thing they want to talk about. To me, it felt insulting if you didn’t acknowledge Ian’s passing.

I’ve heard people say, “I didn’t want to bring it up,” or “I didn’t want to remind you of it.” When Ian died, it was all I could think about. Nothing anyone said could remind me of his death- it was the elephant in the room that only got bigger when ignored.

So don’t be afraid to bring “it” up.

Talking about our loved ones who have passed keeps them alive in our world today.

Helpful things people shared with me:

• “I miss him too,”
• “I’m thinking about Ian today.”
• “Seeing ____ made me think of Ian today.”
• “I remember when Ian did __ or said ___”
• “Ian always taught me…”

Sharing fond memories of Ian has filled my heart with joy. When someone dies, it’s easy for the brain to linger on the death. We need to remember the life too.

Hearing stories that I never knew about Ian helped me feel connected to him, like I could still learn more about him. Knowing that I wasn’t alone in missing him or thinking of him also helped me.

It was also incredibly helpful when people were just honest as hell with me. Saying things like:

• “This sucks.”
• “What you’re going through is really difficult.”
• “I don’t know what to say, or what to do, but I’m here.”
• “I can’t imagine the pain you are feeling right now.”
• “It’s okay to feel really mad/sad/etc.”
• “I’m in shock of what happened.”
• “You’re strong as hell, but this is hell.”

Your words of affirmation don’t always need to be positive. It’s easy to want to soothe the griever by saying things like, “It will get better,” and “You can do this.”

Sometimes we just need to affirm that the grief process is really messy, difficult, and hard.

Crying

When my dad died, I hid in my room and cried, thinking that strength was sucking in those tears when other people are around. I have come to think of that as grit now.

When Ian died ten years later, I learned to weep openly, and found immense strength in sharing my grief with others.

At first, I needed space and alone time to feel fully comfortable crying. Over time, the tears flowed more naturally, regardless if I was alone or with others.

It was extremely helpful when people just allowed me to cry, didn’t try to wipe the tears away or cheer me up.

So let yourself and your grieving friend cry.

If you are with a crying griever, you don’t need to hold back your own tears. Crying together is powerful and can bring people closer together.

This is a tricky line though. The goal is to balance sharing your grief, not dumping your grief on someone else.

Here’s an article that explains some of the benefits of crying.

Time

Helpful phrases that people told me:

• “Take as much time as you need.”
• “Whenever you’re ready.”
• “There is no timeline.”
• “There is no rush.”

Time passing can feel agonizingly slow for a griever, then suddenly it can feel way too fast. Either way, the concept of time was greatly distorted for me as a griever. A month felt like a year and a day felt like a week but a week felt a day. It was difficult for me to keep track of the months and holidays passing and holidays because none of it seemed important to me anymore.

No matter how much time has passed, your support is still meaningful. I mean this in two ways.

When Ian went missing in the mountains, a GoFundMe was started to help with the search and rescue costs. I was stunned when I read the names of the donors. Mothers who watched me play with their kids in elementary school donated without a single word exchanged to each other in the last 20 years. They showed me that love is timeless and less conditional than I thought. Friends that Ian hadn’t spoken to since high school donated to the fund to finding him, which showed me that keeping in constant contact doesn’t matter as much as I thought it did.

Another way that I mean this is that for some of my friends, it took years to reach out after my dad died. I lost some close friends who didn’t reach out and gained new ones who did. We were teenagers when my dad died, we didn’t know how to handle complex grief. Letters I received years later rekindled old connections.

And after Ian died, I didn’t have the space to talk on the phone with everyone I have ever loved. A mentor of mine didn’t reach out to me until more than seven months had passed. And when we connected, I had the room the share and we talked for two hours.

Don’t be afraid to reach out, no matter how much time has passed.

Support and love comes in strong at the beginning of grief, but can often dwindle after a few months or years. Reach out, whenever you are ready. Reach out, often. Reach out, even after a long time has passed.

Food

When Ian went missing, my stomach twisted into a knot for months. Nausea and vomiting became a very normal thing for me. I couldn’t eat- the textures of food were off and my favorite flavors no longer had a taste.

Stress hormones and cortisol levels rise with grief, which can suppress appetite and hunger, which you can read more about here.

For two to three months, the only thing I could eat without throwing up was smoothies. At first, I judged myself for this. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I eat? I demanded of myself until my therapist said, “You can eat smoothies without throwing up? That’s great! Eat lots of smoothies.”

My answer to “Are you hungry?” was always no, because that part of my brain was disconnected from my body. But when someone put a plate of food in front of me, I often ate it. I needed that support of someone cooking for me and reminding me when eight hours passed without a meal.

When my dad died in 2013, meals were dropped at our doorstep. I remember our refrigerator bursting with Tupperware full of lasagnas, salad, pasta, tacos, etc. The fridge was so full we feared opening it, and it seemed like no one had the energy to heat anything up.

I remember as a kid feeling really sad whenever someone would drop off a meal on our front door. I watched from the window as my friends rang the doorbell, then ran back to their mom’s minivan and drove away, as if we were too fragile to eat with.

I think they thought they were being respectful, just dropping off and giving us space. But I desperately needed quality time with my community. It would have been more impactful if they rang the doorbell and came inside, put the food in the oven, and sat down at the dinner table with me. But maybe that would’ve felt like an obligation to my siblings, or an intrusion to my mom.

When my dad was alive, we’d sit at the kitchen table for hours, watching my parents prep the meal, then eating together, and lingering at the table long after, deep in conversation. That sense of normalcy was gone when he was in the hospital and the months that followed his death.

This is why grieving can be so tricky, because I honestly believe that the people who dropped meals off on our porch genuinely cared for us. They spent hours thinking of us while making the meal, shopping for the ingredients, and dropping it off. It was a thoughtful thing to do, but the ghost like drop and leave bit did more harm to me than help. As a teenager, I wondered if everyone was now afraid of our family because we were sad. I interpreted this to mean that we were not desirable to eat dinner with anymore, because we were grieving and no longer considered “the fun house.”

Now I know that grief is wildly confusing because everyone needs something different. I know that community members want to help, but don’t always know what will land.

Help with logistical tasks

Because executive functioning skills are lower during times of grief, it can hugely helpful to perform acts of service for the griever.

When my dad died, I remember waking up and seeing our neighbor continue to mow our lawn after they were done with theirs. As a kid, I could care less about the height of the grass, but the gesture of care and thought landed. We weren’t close with our neighbor, but his small act of acknowledging that he knew we were grieving meant a lot to me. We didn’t need to exchange words, make a plan, or set a time…he just did it.

Ian and I moved into a house in a new town one month before he died, so coming “home” to a house full of boxes wasn’t comforting. Friends came over and hung up photos on the walls, left a vase of flowers by the window, helped me unpack boxes, and put books on the shelves.

They switched loads of laundry, wiped down the counters, cleaned some dishes, and swept the floor. They filled the spaces that I didn’t even know needing filling, such as hanging up lights in the dark living room and filling the cabinet under the sink with cleaning supplies. These are the kind of tasks that I had no energy or care to complete, but once they were done I could feel the difference.

These smalls acts of service were so meaningful to me because they helped me settle into a cozy home instead of rotting away inside a random house.

Ian’s favorite way to give love was through acts of service like working on my bike, replacing parts, pumping up my tires, and chopping up firewood for the winter months ahead. He was usually the first to start dishes, the one to think ahead of what we might need in months to come, and genuinely loved to perform routine maintenance on our cars. When he died, I felt that gap of a partner who loved to contribute to life’s shared chores and tasks filled in by friends and community.

Writing

I strongly believe in the healing powers of writing to process complex emotions, particularly grief. This is not for everyone, so don’t force a griever to write if they don’t enjoy it.

In deep grief, I found it safer to write emails, blog posts, and letters about how I was doing, rather than repeat the same information on the phone out loud.

A good friend of mine knew that I enjoyed poetry, so she paid for me to join an online zoom poetry class that met once a week for a month. This not only gave me an outlet to write about grief, it gave me a community of women that listened and supported me. It gave me something to look forward to each week. It gave me hope.

She also knew how hard it was for me to stay organized with the calendar, days, and times. She supported me by texting me reminders like: “Poetry today! Can’t wait!” and “Poetry in 1 hour,” and “Poetry in 5 minutes,” and even, “Poetry is starting! Hop on now!”

Even with all these reminders, I barely made it sometimes, but I never felt any judgement from her. Only understanding that timely reminders was what I needed.

After the search for Ian ended, Ian’s mom mailed me a new journal to write in that I have used nearly every day.

Writing in the moment about raw grief is some of the best writing I’ve ever done. It captures something so honest and so real. No matter what you do, you can never get your brain into the grieving space if you are not actually grieving. It is a limited time space of rugged beauty, and writing helped me seize the window of time that felt never ending but was actually quite fleeting. Getting emotions on the page actually allowed them to flow in and out of me.

Gifts

Since Ian died, I have been adorned with gifts from the earth. My eight year old niece spent hours walking the shores of the Atlantic looking for the perfect shells to make into earrings for me. Ian’s friend Travis picked up a heart rock when he found out that Ian was missing and gave it to me once he arrived at the search. Rocks, skulls, and feathers now line the window sills of my home. These are the kind of gifts that are meaningful to me.

Books have popped into my PO box, because my community knows that I love to read. Poetry books on loss, grief, and death have kept me company through dark days, expressing in words what I could not at the time. Adventure books centered on the Colorado Plateau have allowed me to escape my grief for a moment. Books helped me pass time on long lonely days. Books inspired me to want to see the world again, allowing me to travel in my mind when I did not want to leave the couch.

A stranger watched the search for Ian on Instagram while they threw pottery that summer. Later, they mailed me a beautiful hand crafted bowl with Mount Hesperus etched into it, the last mountain that Ian climbed.

All the smells have come to me in packages as well. I’ll forever associate Rose water with this season of grief, as I sprayed it on my face every day for the last ten months because three people mailed it to me. Along with packages full of palo santo, sage, and hand made candles, which brought sweet aromas into my heartbroken home.

Do SOMETHING.

The bottom line of supporting someone who is grieving is to just do something.

Don’t let the fear of doing the wrong thing prevent you from doing anything.

Acknowledge the grief, the pain, and the loss in whatever way you can.

First, think about the way the griever can best accept your love, and then think about what ways are most comfortable for you to express your love. Find that middle ground.

I am the biggest advocate for quality time because it is the best way that I give and receive love. More importantly, I think the general feeling of grief is “uhh…now what?” And none of us have the right answer because grief is so delicate. What works one day may not ever work again. It requires constant checking in, trying something and saying “nah” or “oh yes,” and letting ourselves and our loved ones be transformed by grief.

When we don’t know what to do, I think the best thing to do is to show up.

Many people who came to search for Ian when he went missing, would say something like “I don’t know if I can help but…” but then they would find something to do. Just putting yourself in the grieving environment will give you clues as to what is needed.

The people who showed up and said, “I’m here,” was enough for me.

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Thank you to all who have reached out to support me both when my dad died and Ian died. I have learned so much about love and support through the efforts of my community. Forever in awe of the love that follows death. Thank you.

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