How To Console Someone Who Lost A Parent
So, you’ve heard the news. A friend, a colleague, a neighbor… they’ve lost a parent. Your heart sinks, and then your brain starts whirring. What do you say? What do you do? This is where the polite, textbook advice goes out the window, and we enter the slightly awkward, but hopefully, genuinely kind territory.
Let's be honest, sometimes the standard "I'm so sorry for your loss" can feel like a cosmic shrug. It's not wrong, of course. It’s perfectly acceptable. But maybe, just maybe, we can do a little better. Or at least, a little different. My totally unscientific, slightly rebellious opinion is that sometimes the best way to console someone is to be a bit of a human comfort blanket, rather than a grief guru.
Think about it. When you stub your toe, do you want a philosophical dissertation on the nature of pain? Or do you want someone to hand you an ice pack and maybe make a silly joke about the furniture’s aggressive tendencies? Grief is a bit like a really, really bad stubbed toe for the soul. It hurts. A lot. And sometimes, what’s needed isn’t deep wisdom, but simple, unwavering presence.
My first "unpopular" tip? Don't be afraid of silence. Seriously. We're so conditioned to fill awkward silences. But with someone who's grieving, silence can be a sacred space. You can just sit there. Next to them. Maybe on the sofa. Maybe at the kitchen table. Just be. You don’t need to chatter. You don't need to offer platitudes. Just breathe. Let them know they aren't alone in their quiet pain. It’s like saying, “I’m here. Even when there are no words.”
Secondly, forget the grand gestures of comfort. Unless your friend is secretly a superhero who thrives on dramatic pronouncements, stick to the small stuff. Bringing over a casserole? Great. Making sure they have clean socks? Even better. Seriously, the mundane acts of care can be incredibly grounding. Think about it: when was the last time a perfectly delivered motivational quote made you feel less numb? Probably never. But a warm cup of tea? That’s a solid win.
And speaking of tea, offer practical help. Not the vague "let me know if you need anything" kind. That puts the onus on the grieving person to ask. And who wants to ask for things when they can barely remember their own name? Instead, try the proactive approach. "Hey, I'm going to the grocery store. What can I pick up for you?" Or, "I’ve got a couple of hours free this afternoon. Can I do your laundry? Or just sit with you while you tackle it?" These are the real MVP moves.
Now, about the dreaded "talking about it." This is a minefield. Some people want to talk. Some people don't. The key is to follow their lead. If they mention a funny memory about their parent, run with it! Laugh with them. If they suddenly go quiet and stare into the middle distance, don't push. Just gently say, "It's okay to feel whatever you're feeling." It's like giving them permission to be human.
And for goodness sake, avoid the comparison trap. "Oh, I know how you feel, my [distant relative] died five years ago." No. Just. No. Every loss is unique. Every person grieves differently. It’s like comparing apples and existential dread. They’re both unpleasant, but not in the same way. So, resist the urge to one-up their pain. Your job isn’t to have the worst story, it’s to be a supportive presence.
Here's another potentially controversial thought: it's okay to make them laugh. Not forced, inappropriate laughter, but genuine, light-hearted moments. If a silly story about their parent comes to mind, share it. If you can find something truly funny and innocent to lighten the mood for a fleeting second, do it. Laughter isn't the absence of grief; it's a momentary reprieve. And in the thick of it, a reprieve is like finding an oasis in the desert.
Remember, you’re not there to fix their grief. You can’t. Grief is a process, a long, winding road with unexpected detours. You're there to walk alongside them for a bit. To offer a steady hand. To share a quiet moment. To maybe bring over some decent coffee. And if you stumble over your words, or say something a little awkward? It's okay. The sincerity behind it usually shines through. So, be kind, be present, and for the love of all that is holy, offer to take out their trash. Trust me, it’s a win.