When I ask you to listen to me and you feel you have to do something to solve my problems, you have failed me, strange as that may seem. Listen! All I asked was that you listen, not talk or do - just hear me.
Advice is cheap; twenty cents will get you both Dear Abby and Billy Graham in the same newspaper. And I can do for myself. I'm not helpless. Maybe discouraged and faltering, but not helpless.
When you do something for me that I can and need to do for myself, you contribute to my fear and inadequacy. But when you accept as a simple fact that I do feel what I feel, no matter how irrational, then I can quit trying to convince you and get about this business of understanding what is behind this irrational feeling.
And when that is clear, the answers are obvious and I don't need advice. Irrational feelings make sense when we understand what's behind them.
Perhaps that's why prayer works, sometimes, for some people -- because God is mute and doesn't give advice or try to fix things. He just listens and lets you work it out for yourself.
So please listen and just hear me. And if you want to talk, wait a minute for your turn and I'll listen to you.
top of page Comforting a Suicide Survivor
Do List
- Give them all the understanding and love that you can.
- Give them your time. Be there for them as often as you can.
- Let them talk about whatever they are feeling or thinking, and to express their grief.
- Offer ideas but not advice and let them decide what they want to do and when they want to do it.
- They may become tired easily. Help them not feel guilty for resting.
- Help them keep the mail (bills, cards, notices) straight if they don't mind your assistance.
- Pay attention to brothers, sisters, and grandparents during the funeral and for the months following the funeral.
- Listen when they want to tell you about the special talents and qualities of the loved one who committed suicide.
- Encourage them to talk as often as they can to as many people as they can.
Don't List
- Don't assume you know best or know how they feel.
- Don't make comparisons to your own loss of a parent, child, friend, who did not die by suicide.
- Don't tell them how they should feel or try to change their feelings. Let them feel whatever they are feeling, whenever they are feeling it. Feelings are personal and individualized.
- Don't tell them this was God's will or preach to them. They will draw strength from their own faith, if that is important to them.
- Don't give them your pills or personal medications. Let the professionals who they choose to visit recommend medications if they need such.
- Don't change the subject if they want to talk about their lost loved one.
- Don't take over their responsibilities or activities, except when they request our assistance.
- Don't stop visiting or calling them.
- Don't alter their loved one's room or belongings.
- Don't point out the fact that they have other children, if the loss was a child. Children are not interchangeable.
- Don't add to their feelings of guilt by pointing out things that could have been done differently.
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"Please"
A poem by Rita Moran, adapted from Ann Landers Column. Reprinted by permission of The Compassionate Friends
Please don't ask me if I'm over it yet.
I'll never be "over it."
Please don't tell me she's in a better place.
She isn't here.
Please don't say "at least she isn't suffering."
I haven't come to terms with why she had to suffer at all.
Please don't tell me how I feel,
unless you have lost a child.
Please don't tell me to get on with my life.
I'm still here you'll notice.
Please don't ask me if I feel better.
Bereavement isn't a condition that "clears up."
Please never tell me "God never makes a mistake."
You mean, He did this on purpose?
Please don't tell me "at least you had her for 28 years."
What year would you choose for your daughter to die?
Please don't tell me God never gives you more than you can bear.
Who decides how much another person can bear?
Please just say you are sorry.
Please just remember her if you can.
Please let me talk if I want to.
Please let me cry when I must.
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Please, See Me Through My Tears
by Kelly Osmont, a Psychotherapist, Certified Death Educator, and National Speaker
You asked, "How are you doing?"
As I told you, tears came to my eyes... and you looked away and quickly began to talk again. All the attention you had given me drained away.
"How am I doing?"... I do better when people listen, though I may shed a tear or two. The pain is indescribable. If you've never known it you cannot fully understand. Yet I need you. When you looked away, when I'm ignored, I am again alone with it.
Your attention means more than you can ever know.
Really, tears are not a bad sign you know! They're nature's way of helping me to heal...
They relieve some of the stress of sadness.
I know you fear that asking how I'm doing brings me sadness... but you're wrong.
The memory of my loved one's death will always be with me. Only a thought away.
My tears make my pain more visible to you, but you did not give me the pain, it was already there.
When I cry, could it be that you feel helpless, not knowing what to do?
You are not helpless, and you don't need to do a thing, but be there.
When I feel your permission to allow my tears to flow, you've helped me.
You need not speak. Your silence as I cry is all I need. Be patient... do not fear. Listening with your heart to "how I'm doing" relieves the pain, for when the tears can freely come and go, I feel lighter.
Talking to you releases what I've been wanting to say aloud, clearing space for a touch of joy in my life. I'll cry for a minute or two... and then I'll wipe my eyes, and sometimes you'll even find I'm laughing later.
When I hold back the tears, my throat grows tight, my chest aches, my stomach knots...because I'm trying to protect you from my tears. Then we both hurt... me, because my pain is held inside, a shield against our closeness... and you, because suddenly we're distant.
So please, take my hand and see me through my tears... then we can be close again.
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