I got a call about a little over a week ago that my aunt had died. My mother gave me the particulars about when the funeral would be held, and I turned to the computer to try and find an affordable flight from Hawaii to Salt Lake City that would get me there in time for the Saturday morning funeral. We are generally able to travel that route for five or six hundred dollars. There was nothing under a thousand dollars at the last minute and flying on a weekend. I called the airline we use most often and inquired about a bereavement rate.
“Our bereavement rate is $1,500.00 dollars.”
“But that is $400.00 more than the rate I found online for a regular flight. Do they call it a bereavement fare because it makes you cry? Can you explain how that helps me or anyone else in this circumstance?”
“The bereavement fare is half off our highest published rate.”
“So it is designed to take advantage of grieving people who don't know they might be able to find a cheaper flight on their own?” (Sometimes you have to take out your grief and frustration on unsuspecting airline employees.)
“I didn't make the policy. I know it has saved many people thousands of dollars.”
“Well, I'm obviously not going to be one of them.”
I hung up, made another call, cashed in some frequent flier miles, and found a way to get to the funeral. I loved my aunt and wanted to be at her services. Having lost a husband, I remember how touched I was by the people who traveled great distances to be there at his funeral. As they say, “the journey is part of the gift.”
During the process of trying to get to my aunt's funeral, I contemplated that many of the things we do and say at the time someone dies are, like the bereavement fare, less than helpful. I would like to share a few things not to say.
He or she is in a better place .
We know that, but that better place is far removed from where we are, and selfishly, we don't want our loved one there. We want them here. I have a friend who lost her husband and complained about a particular church leader, who, every time he saw her, reminded her that her husband was in a better place. She said, “I don't need him in that better place. I need him here fixing the car and helping with the kids' homework and snuggling up to me at night.” There is little comfort in this phrase, well meaning though it may be. Sometimes it can make you angry at the loved one for being in that “better place” while you slog along alone trying to deal with the challenges of life.
It was meant to be. It was his or her time.
It may well have been divinely decreed that Bob's time was up. I don't know exactly how that works. I ultimately decided it was God's will that my husband die, because it is God's will that we all die, eventually. Last I checked, there is a spokesperson for God on the earth, and his name is Thomas S. Monson. Please don't be quick to judgment, especially in the event of an untimely death, to announce that it was divinely decreed. This can result in people being angry at God instead of turning to Him for comfort. Often bad things happen because God does not interfere with the natural laws He put in place, including the agency he gave us. I believe He welcomes us home at different times according to His purposes. It may be because we have passed the test of mortality. It may be because He has need of us in the heavenly realms. It may also be because someone ran a red light.
There is something God wants you to learn from this.
After the accidental shooting death of my youngest brother, a lady told my mother that Mike's death served a purpose because her boys had learned an important lesson about gun safety. So sign them for a hunter safety course. God wants us all to learn from our trials. Again, don't suggest that God engineered an accident or illness for a specific purpose. Do we suppose that telling John that his mother's death was engineered by God to remind him about eternal things will bring him back to principles he has abandoned?
You will have other children, marry again, or anything like unto it.
Because I was in my twenties when my first husband died, I was repeatedly told that I was young and would marry again. Well, I did, twice in fact, if we are counting. This isn't like going to the theater and finding out the show you wanted to see is sold out so you go to another movie. When a young cousin of mine died, many people reminded my aunt that she still had seven other children. Did they believe that with such a large family, she would never notice one was missing? A loss is a loss. Do not try to minimize it.
Don't Downplay the Loss of an Unborn of Stillborn Child
A miscarriage or a child that only lives a few hours is still a devastating loss. It is the loss of the hopes and dreams of parenthood. There is often speculation about just when life begins. We could also ask “When does love begin?” An empty crib and drawers full of little clothes that must be folded and put away is heart wrenching. Often added to these kinds of losses are judgments by unknowing people about those who “selfishly remain childless” or other such pronouncements. I remember a missionary, who was adopted, telling me about the bishop who reamed out his mother for not having had any children when she had suffered through years of desperately trying to carry a child. Miscarriages are losses that people are often unaware of. Please don't add judgments to the quiet heartache often suffered by the childless.
Is There Anything I Can Do?
This is often said with the best of intentions, but truth be told, it rings hollow. Most grieving people are not going to say, “Yes, would you come do my laundry? I haven't touched it since I got the news and we're all out of clean clothes.” Come up with something concrete and do it, but don't wait to be asked, because most people are reluctant to ask for help, even at times they really need it.
A Few Helpful Suggestions
Now that I have ranted a bit about what not to say, perhaps it would be helpful to give a few suggestions about things that are helpful.
Just Be There
Offer a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on. Allow people to find their own answers and attach their own meanings to what has happened.
Share a Memory
Share a memory of the person who died. Tell of a service they did or an important part they played in your life. For me, it was simply telling my cousins that I always knew that if I was passing through Smithfield on my way to see my family in Idaho, I always knew I could stop at Aunt Elna's and have a bed for a night and a chance to chat before resuming my journey. It was during those periodic stops that I had the best visits with her and got to know her adult-to-adult, as opposed to seeing her merely as the mother of my cousins and a provider of food, as her home was a favorite gathering place at Thanksgiving when I was young. Share a photo they might never have seen. It is easier and easier these days to share photos, and it takes just a few minutes to sit down and share your memory of someone who has died.
What Can I Do?
Ask “What can I do?” and have a few suggestions at the ready.
“I have two extra bedrooms. Do you have any family coming in for the funeral that I can put up?”
“Would it be helpful if I take over your carpool duties for the next month?”
“Can I help you put together a collection of photos into a slideshow?”
Comic Relief
Let us not forget the importance, while we are immersed in sadness, of a few light moments. Share a humorous experience you had with their loved one. Gently help a grieving person to see that they are still alive, can still laugh and find joy in life. You can enjoy a humorous movie together or just wait for life to deliver the humor. Children are wonderful examples of humor and provide it quite naturally.
Inadvertently, I added a moment of comic relief to my aunt's funeral. I was standing on the sidewalk outside the church building as they somberly lifted the casket into the hearse. Moments later, I felt an unusual sensation and looked down to see my slip on the ground around my ankles. The elastic chose that very moment to give up the ghost, perhaps aided by the fact that I had flown overnight in my Sunday best. It had given service above and beyond the usual call of duty as I alternated positions several times in an attempt to get a little sleep in my coach seat. As they say, “Some stretch clothes have no other choice.” I looked around to see who had noticed, and I saw my cousin's wife laughing hysterically through her tears. “Thanks, Susan. I needed that!” I was grateful my little wardrobe malfunction could serve a positive purpose. I stepped away and left my navy blue slip there on the sidewalk, and decided to pretend I had no idea where it had come from. My mother standing nearby picked it up and stuffed it into my purse and gave me a parting word of advice. “Don't stand in the sun at the cemetery.” This caused us all to start laughing again.
I'm going to miss that slip, but when your number's up, your number's up.
We all feel bad when someone dies. Back up the things you say with some concrete actions. Do something that will be helpful or meaningful. Don't offer a “bereavement fare” that sounds good but has no actual value. Give more than lip service.
