When Imogen died we found ourselves thrust into an unfamiliar world of grief. The kind where everything goes silent and you can’t figure out which way is up, and you’re moving through a fog barely able to lift your feet kind of grief.
When I think back on the hours leading up to Imogen’s birth and the few days afterward, I have no idea how we made it through. It is only the Lord’s grace that allowed us to keep breathing and moving forward through those horrible days. But we survived. And now that we’re a few months out, I have such a deeper understanding of grief and how to support those in the middle of the fog. To be clear, we’re not out of the fog yet. But it is a little clearer and we’re breathing a little easier as we make our way through.
We have an army of people who have loved and supported us so well in this season. This list represents things we’ve learned and experienced for ourselves (and things that have been confirmed by other parents walking through similar grief.) It is not intended to speak for everyone, but would be an excellent place to start if you’re looking for practical ways to love people well in seasons of death and loss.
“By saying their name, you’re acknowledging they actually lived.”
Say their names. It’s awkward, I know. When someone dies we often don’t want to mention it or acknowledge it. We don’t want to add to someone’s pain. I promise, you’re not going to accidentally remind them that their [baby, mom, brother, grandma] died. They are thinking about it every second of every day. But when you say their name (especially in infant/child loss), you’re acknowledging that they actually lived. And validating the importance of their life by remembering them. This is the #1 thing that has been helpful to us. We love hearing Imogen’s name.
Text. Text again. And again. There’s a myth out there that when someone is grieving you need to give them lots of space. There is some truth to that. They probably don’t want to be hosting people in their home for days and weeks on end. But they do need to know that people are thinking about them, remembering them, and holding space for them. One of the best ways people have supported us in this season is by texting (or emailing, facebook messaging, etc) and continuing to reach out even when they didn’t get a response. “I’m thinking about you today.” “I’m remembering Imogen with you.” “I’m praying for deep comfort for you right now.”
Acknowledge the milestones. I’ve gotten flowers delivered on the 14th of every month from one thoughtful friend. Another sends me a text on that day. I know the 14th of every month won’t jump out to everyone else forever. Set an alert on your calendar or pre-write the cards or order flowers ahead of time. Acknowledging the anniversaries or birthdays or holidays will mean so much to friends who feel alone while the rest of the world moves on.
Don’t be afraid of their tears. I still cry at some point every single day. Some days it’s a little and some it’s a lot. I’ve cried at least 5 times at our favorite Mexican restaurant, in the Target check-out line, on walks around the neighborhood and in my bed at night. I can’t predict when it will come or how long it will last. It is such a gift to have friends who can wait out the tears, sometimes cry with me, shoo the waiter away, and continue our lunch when I’m ready.
Avoid sentences that start with the words, “At least.” We know it’s meant to be helpful. We know you really mean well. And we know you don’t know what to say. But it feels like you’re minimizing our pain by reminding us it could be worse. Of course it could be worse and we may be able to find that silver lining on our own. But it’s not usually helpful when someone else points it out, even if it’s true. (Honestly, people have been amazing with their comments to us. And there’s lots of grace if you happen to get it wrong.)
Give a thoughtful gift. Several friends gave me necklaces with Imogen’s name engraved on them soon after she died. I love them and wear them every single day. It’s a tangible way to keep her close and their thoughtfulness meant so much. Another friend had a star named after her, another planted a tree, and another gifted us a teddy bear that is exactly 6 pounds, 15 ounces - Imogen’s weight at birth. All of these gifts allow Imogen’s name and memory to live on in our lives.
Bring dinner. Or breakfast. Or an Uber Eats gift card. I know, everyone knows to bring a meal. And if there’s a meal train, sign up to drop off dinner. But sometimes people can be overwhelmed with casseroles and lasagna, so we also loved it when someone dropped off homemade muffins for breakfast or sent an Uber Eats gift card. That gave us options long after the meals stopped showing up.
Don’t ask them to make decisions. And when you bring/send a meal, don’t ask for a lot of input. I know this comes from a genuine desire to give people what they need and want. The truth is they don’t know what they need and don’t care about what they want. They’ve just made so many earth shattering decisions that they don’t care what they eat for dinner. Or where you put away the dishes. Or what you wear to the funeral. Just be patient and let them know you’re there whenever they do know what they need.
Listen. Imogen’s death was such a shock that it was hard to process our reality. It felt surreal and like we were living in a dream. It’s taken months of replaying what happened for us to start to accept that it’s true. I’m so grateful for friends that have let me talk through the events, the what-ifs and if-onlys, as many times as I needed to start to accept that this is real, there’s nothing we could have done, and there’s no one we need to blame.
Let their process take time. There’s no standard timeline to make it through the grieving process and they will never completely move on. We’ve appreciated people who have given us space to process even three months down the road. People who haven’t expected us to be “better” or “over it” and have been patient with our pain. People who understand that we will always be different because Imogen lived and because she died too soon.
“We’ll always be different because Imogen lived and because she died too soon.”
You won’t always get it right and no one expects you to. The beautiful thing is that we have different friends who have been good in each of these different areas - the pressure isn’t all on you! I hope this list provides practical suggestions to help you minister to your friends while they grieve.
Those of you that have experienced intense seasons of grief - what have I missed? Which of these have been most comforting to you?