To Comfort The Grieving

How do you comfort someone?

They never taught that skill in school, presuming that we’ll learn that later in life. We also presumed that we just had to mimic the adults around us. Like motherhood, many of us simply presumed that comforting someone would come naturally.

Like most presumptions, I was wrong.

Mel’s father died on Ash Wednesday. I arrived at the wake with my sisters and brothers in Lingkod ng Panginoon. A few hugged Mel while others whispered words of condolence. I distanced myself not knowing what to do.

Mel saw me standing outside and approached me. I blurted out questions from nowhere. First question was if the family expected the demise, considering that her father was hospitalized earlier (The answer was no). The second question was if the fact had already sunk in (Yes. But, ironically, only when she was at home, where the slippers of her father and the bread he bought a day ago were still in plain sight).

Mercifully, our talk ended briefly since the prayer service was about to start. But the question popped itself again: how do you comfort someone who just lost a father?

In 2012, Ma’am Aimee’s baby died. I went at the wake together with my office mates. Unlike the rest who asked for details on how the baby died, I was looking around most of the time, thinking, “Is there a prayer service?”

And when we bade farewell to Ma’am Aimee, all I did was hold her hand for several seconds. No words of comfort from me to her. Just me staring at her teary eyes. How do you comfort someone who just lost her child?

But I need to ask myself first. Why the sense of inadequacy? Why the feeling of guilt if I don’t try anything to somehow alleviate the other’s grief? Why isn’t it easy or natural for me to just act? To just follow what the people around me are doing?

For instance, I could say I’m sorry or condolences. But what good would that do? What am I sorry for anyway?

I could say their loved one is in a better place. But how is that going to take away the sorrow?

I can goad them to talk about the circumstances surrounding the death. But I disdain the futility of the exercise (and it's not helpful too. See article here).

 I can hug. But I'm not the 'touchy-feely' type of friend.

So I’m left with just this: be a presence. No words need to be uttered. And I can do it perfectly. Just stand around and let the other know I'm around.

Besides, the part to give comfort is not necessarily during the funeral but after, when the enormity of the loss begins to sink in. By then, expect me to stick around so you don't have to mourn alone.