I just returned from my grandfather’s funeral in California. This trip was far less painful than I anticipated, and I am grateful for my family and glad that I got to at least speak to both of my sisters while I was out there.
Being at a big family funeral inevitably results in a lot of awkward moments, not only because I see people I haven’t seen in decades (and may or may not recognize), but because a family funeral connects me with people I love who are grieving. After this experience, I have made the following observation.
When someone I love is grieving, I shouldn’t try to make it better. This is a strong, nearly irresistible impulse. Like sorrow is a vacuum at which happy feelings must be thrown to stop the sucking power. Still, I should try. Nothing I say is actually going to make them happier right at that moment, that comes later. And it doesn’t come from me, it comes from a process, a relationship with the supernatural forces of time and God, which I should avoid stepping on. There are certain phrases that I regard as red flags when they come out of my mouth.
“God works in mysterious ways.” Duh. How does that help?
“God is good, all the time.” Ever notice that no one EVER says that when you might actually think God is good? The resulting feeling is a not very well disguised guilt trip. It sounds something like, God’s good no matter how crappy your life is, so don’t complain.
“God has a different/better plan.” For this one I will quote my good friend Morgan, who said very aptly “Satan comes to kill, steal, and destroy. God doesn’t do that.” So if someone or something is dead, lost, or ruined, quit saying God did it, okay? Even if I think that’s what really happened, that is not the time to enter into a theodicy debate.
“Oh, were they Christians?” Even though it’s tempting, and I want to be able to speak accurately about the situation, asking this question always feels like a choice between calling grief unnecessary (if they’re in heaven now, what’s to be sad about?) and the infliction of hideous sorrow.
“They’re in a better place now.” People know this. If that was going to make them feel better, they would feel better already. And what’s weird is, it might already be making them feel better, but my saying it like that should unravel all the complex feelings they have about someone dying is insulting to soul and intelligence.
In general, I feel that pat answers to grief are harmful. Even when they are said with a true intent to help and comfort, they are avoiding the true nature of the thing. Using a generic phrase to respond to what is challenging and confusing obscures the human relationship I’m involved in. When I say things like, “They’re with Jesus now,” I’m avoiding contact with my friend’s grief and pushing that horrible feeling back on them. In essence, I’m asking them to keep their wounds away from me, to come back when they’re happy and easy to deal with. Not only am I hurting them out of my fear and self-preservation, I am losing a chance at a friendship that is deep and true.
This is my experience and opinion only. I would love to hear about something that was said to you when you were grieving that really helped.
After my grandfather died in 2001, I recall someone at the calling hours who shared a memorable story and something they appreciated about my grandfather. It was a touching moment and really encouraging to remember him fondly.
I also recall that there were a lot of people at the calling hours and I don’t remember what they said. But I do remember specific people that were there. Now that I think about it. Many came up to me trying to say something like “my condolences” or otherwise fumbling for words, and we just hugged. It wasn’t so important what they said, but that they cared enough about my grandfather and my family to show up. In a sense they were saying “I care” by just being there.
My grandma died when I was 6 and my sisetr was 4. Our cousins were 2 and 4. We all went to the funeral. At the time, the three of them didn’t understand what was going on in any way, and I had the chicken pox and was just itchy like nothing else so didn’t really care to know what was happening.I think that you can bring your kids to a funeral when you are prepared to explain to them about death. Most kids can grasp a vague sense of death probably around age 4 or so. If they had pets die, as you say, and they understood that, they should understand their grandmother’s death in some sense.