How to Help a Hurting Friend

How to Help a Hurting Friend

BY LEANNE PENNY

JULY 23, 2013

Leanne Penny is a mother, writer, wife and overall creative soul who is passionate about partnering with God on the business of redemption. She lives with her husband and two preschool-age children in West Michigan where she reads, plays, cooks and squeezes the rest into the cracks somehow. Find more on her Twitter, Facebook or website.

It's time to abandon the idea that we need experience in order to offer comfort.

It was eight years ago, but I can still flash back to that room in my mind: All of us crammed in my parent’s living room, motionless bodies on couches, chairs and floors. The air was heavy with grief and shock. My Father’s body had recently been taken out of the basement where he had died the night before. And it was for that reason that we gathered in heartbroken love.

I could write a million words about the people who sat with me that day, how their simple, genuine love saved my life. Yet the one person that springs to mind in these memories is my sweet friend and college roommate, Becky.

 SHE HAD NO CREDENTIALS THAT GAVE HER PERMISSION TO SPEAK INTO MY LIFE OTHER THAN THE SIMPLE FACT THAT SHE WAS MY BEST FRIEND AND BELONGED BY MY SIDE IN THE STORM.

We met at a pizza place and our lives were totally the same yet completely different. I was casual and went to class in hoodies, Doc Martens and funky hair. Becky was (and still is) the modern day Audrey Hepburn—always dressed in flared jeans and heels with carefully coiffed hair and makeup.

So it said something when she skipped her makeup and shower that day to rush to my side. We were so young, just 22, with no experience in losing a parent. I know she was completely unsure of what to do or say, yet I remember with tender thankfulness how firmly she stayed by my side. She even offered to come with me to the bathroom, in case I was afraid to be alone.

As the years passed, she was my maid of honor and threw a thoughtful shower and crazy-fun bachelorette party. She grabbed my hand before my uncle walked me down the aisle, understanding how deeply I longed for my Dad.

She bought a last-minute plane ticket when our firstborn, Noelle, arrived, because she couldn’t bear to miss out on those fresh new baby days—she had to hold her new niece.

At my Mother’s funeral a few years later, she and her husband, Adam, stayed with my husband, Kel, and I for the entire visitation. She was by my side through all the confused, dark details. She didn’t flinch or waiver. She didn’t let things get awkward. She had no credentials that gave her permission to speak into my life other than the simple fact that she was my best friend and belonged by my side in the storm.

So often when we don’t know what to say we make one of two mistakes:

• We either say something trite and painful as we attempt to put an easy bow on our friend’s grief, or we say nothing at all and keep our distance, feeling ill equipped to speak from our lack of knowledge and understanding.

• Surprisingly, saying nothing is far worse than saying the wrong thing. The last thing a wounded friend needs is to wonder if their pain is too awkward for your friendship. Saying nothing may cause them to question if your friendship was shallow and only available when life was easy.

Don’t buy into the lie that you need some sort of credentials to “go there” with the heartbroken and grieving people in your life. God knows and understands all pain, He has been there—He has been everywhere, and His papa heart is burdened when His children’s hearts break. Have faith that His spirit will equip you for every room He sends you into.

DON’T BUY INTO THE LIE THAT YOU NEED CREDENTIALS TO “GO THERE” WITH THE HEARTBROKEN AND GRIEVING PEOPLE IN YOUR LIFE.

“A friend loves at all times” isn’t just a verse for grandmas to sweetly needlepoint on a pillows—it’s a real call to be lived out through late night phone calls, tear-stained napkins, hand delivered warm meals, thoughtful cards or however you feel called to love.

Hands and feet love will speak louder than your fear or lack of knowledge, here are a few tips:

Don’t stay silent. Offer your support and don’t be afraid to use the phrase “I don’t understand, but I’m so sorry and I’m here.”

Be specific with your support: Don’t just say “Can I do anything?” but offer a specific meal on a specific night, offer childcare, housework or lawn mowing. Think about what your practical needs would be if you found yourself in your friend’s shoes. We’re often too prideful to ask for help, but we can be persuaded with tempting and specific offers.

Don’t make the mistake of thinking things will be OK in a week. Be the one who is still checking in a month, six months and a year later. Realize that some hurts take years to heal and leave permanent scars. Your friendship will likely change as your friends heal, although I would wager that if you just “go there,” you will both come out of this stronger, more gracious and closer to God as well as to each other.

Article taken from 

http://www.relevantmagazine.com/god/how-help-hurting-friend

Tear Drops are Falling on My Arm: An Unexpected Moment of Healing

Tear Drops are Falling on My Arm: An Unexpected Moment of Healing

- by Dr Craig

For me, tears are usually healing. I do understand that there is such a thing as depressive crying in which someone cries continually in a way that keeps them stuck in replaying the same emotional movie over and over. In this essay, I am not talking about depressive crying; rather, I am talking about some instances in which tears the tears of others have felt healing, and in which I was the stimulus for the tears.

There have been a good number of occasions during which I have said something to touch someone’s heart while they were standing over me in my wheelchair or leaning over me when I am lying down, and their tears dropped on my skin. Within the past few months or so, I was deeply touched when this happened with a person who had only worked with me for a few times began to shed tears on my arm.

This woman was holding the urinal while I was using it and while this was happening I found myself beginning to share something heavy that had been weighing on my heart. I kind of surprised myself when my words flowed out so beautifully about something that until that moment had chiefly existed in the realms of my heart and mind.

I told her that my life was currently seeming particularly challenging and difficult, and that I found myself having the thought that I was not sure how many more years I wanted to live like this. Then I told her the truth that resulted in a few of her tears sprinkling down on my bare forearm. I told her that I know that I am here to serve Allah through having a loving influence on the planet, as long as I am here. I am not able to accurately recall what I said, because it felt like such a spontaneous experience of heartfelt expression. I believe that I may have also said something about surrendering to using my life for good, regardless of whether my personality likes it or not–that I must endure and serve with gratitude.

I felt so honored, as her watery eyes revealed a greater depth of her soul. For me, having my presence be instrumental in some way to open up a greater soul expression for someone feels quite meaningful. I also feel grateful that there must be something about this person’s presence that helped create the field in which I found myself openly expressing my existential quandary. This person told me that what I had said was exactly what they needed to hear.

Prior to the teardrops landing on my forearm, I noticed that I was experiencing some relief as I seemed to feel the truth behind the words that were flowing through me with confidence. There are so many gifts to be found in such seemingly small experiences. I love the feeling of having my journey inspire or touch hearts. The moment I realized how deeply they were touched, I had a transformative experience regarding how I viewed my handling of my challenges. In that moment, I realized that the way I was approaching my grappling with the issue pressing upon my mind was…inspiring. I sometimes do see the gifts that I have in my life, and some of them I only see with the help of others.

Most of the time, people are laughing with me rather than crying, and these joyful times are what fill many shelves of the “movie” memory library of my mind; yet, there are many beautiful memories of healing tears as well. Sometimes the tears are mine and sometimes they pour forth from another; regardless of the eyes from which they pour forth, the tears are accompanied by a depth of the heart opening, and that is what matters.

With love and gratitude,

Dr Craig

Craig Oster, PhD








Borrowed from 
http://healingwithdrcraig.com/blog/tear-drops-are-falling-on-my-arm-an-unexpected-moment-of-healing/

How soon is TOO soon for a widow to fall in love?

How soon is TOO soon for a widow 

to fall in love?

Tragic: Jayne with Neil on their wedding day in 2004, six years before his death

Just six months after the death of her beloved husband, 

Jayne was already seeing a new man...

Jayne and Neil were happily married with two children

But in 2010, Neil, aged 30, 

died from Sudden Adult Death Syndrome

Six months later Jayne met Adam who helped her 

with her grief. They have since had a child together 

and are engaged to be married

By JAYNE HUSTWIT

Were I to tell you that I started my current relationship just six months after my husband died, would you judge me?

You wouldn't be alone. The matter of how soon is too soon to move on after being widowed is a highly controversial one.

But I don't feel guilty because I know my late husband would be glad for me.

In fact, when I met my current partner, Adam, the last thing in the world I wanted or expected was a new relationship.

But we are proof that you simply cannot plan life - or choose who you fall in love with, or when.

When happiness came my way, I chose to grasp it with both hands. I have no regrets in doing so, even though I know people may criticise me for it.

Of course, I could never have imagined my life would pan out like this.

I was 18 and at sixth-form college when I met Neil, the man who would become my husband. He was also 18, and I'd always thought we would grow old and grey together.

I'd had boyfriends before, but Neil was different: he was that rare mix of gentle, funny, clever and kind.

Our relationship flourished, despite the fact that over the next three years we attended universities miles apart. Neil studied criminology in Lincoln and I did nursing in Harrogate.

We married in July 2004, after graduating, and moved into a new two-bedroom terrace house near  Colne, Lancashire.

Our two children soon followed: Alexander, now seven, then Amy, five.

Neil was now a police officer, and I worked part-time as a  nurse, so I had time at home with the children.

Neil was caring, protective and, best of all, a real family man. If life wasn't perfect, it was as happy as I could possibly have imagined it.

That's until one Friday night in April 2010, when Neil went to a friend's stag party in Newcastle.

I was going out too that night and my parents were babysitting, so I dropped the children off with them and drove home to get ready.

I'd only just arrived home when my father turned up and said Amy wouldn't settle. 'Will you come back with me and give her a cuddle?' he asked.

'My fit, healthy, gorgeous husband, who was only 30, had walked into a pub and collapsed before he had even had a drink.'

I thought it was strange that Dad hadn't just phoned me.

It was only later that I realized he had something terrible to tell me, and wanted me to be safe with him and Mum and the children when he did so.

As we pulled into my parents' drive, Dad turned to me and said: 'It's Neil.' I saw two police officers through the window in my parents' front room and my stomach lurched.

Dad and I rushed into the house and I sat, flanked by my parents, as the police confirmed Neil was dead.

My fit, healthy, gorgeous husband, who was only 30, had walked into a pub and collapsed before he had even had a drink.

His friends - many of them fellow police officers - had desperately tried to revive him and called an ambulance, but he had died within minutes of collapsing.

Neil's heart had simply and inexplicably stopped beating.

A post-mortem examination later classed the cause of death as Sudden Adult Death Syndrome - a fatal disturbance in the heart's rhythm, which can strike at any age, and which can affect even fit and healthy people.

My first fear was that Neil might have suffered. Then I just felt numb. We all sat there crying, in disbelief and shock.

It took two days to summon the courage to tell the children Daddy wasn't coming home. They had thought he was away for the weekend, so that bought me the extra time.

I sat them down in the living room, but as I tried to utter the words, I broke down. My mum had to take over.

Jayne and Neil with their son Alexander and
daughter Amy a year before Neil passed away

Amy was too young to understand. Alexander - who idolised his dad - fell silent. I don't think he properly comprehended either - how could he? - because he kept asking when Dad was coming back.

For three weeks, we stayed with my parents. Consumed by grief, I found my only solace in sleeping pills prescribed by the doctor. Even the funeral two weeks later was a blur.

When I finally mustered the courage to take the children back to our home, it felt cold and empty without Neil.

His police uniform was still hanging in the wardrobe and his favourite football DVDs were next to the television.

At every turn, I was reminded of how happy we had been, and of how much we'd been looking forward to our future together.

A fortnight later, Neil's sergeant came to tell me Neil had passed his sergeant's exams with flying colours. It broke my heart to think my hard-working husband would never know of his success.

Thankfully, my parents came over every day. They helped me care for the children and establish new routines, and that forced me to carry on when I thought I couldn't.

Alexander was starting school that September in 2010 - a school Neil and I had carefully chosen together.

This was the first milestone we would have to reach without my husband and even buying our son's uniform, knowing Neil would never see it, was incredibly upsetting.

'Adam and I had met a few times before, so I arranged for him to come round and advise on the work that needed doing.'

The most difficult times, though, were at bedtime because Alexander would get upset that Daddy wasn't there to tuck him in. It was truly heartbreaking.

Our house had been on the market since before Neil's death. In late September, an offer was made on it, which I felt I should accept because a fresh start would help.

I managed to find a house down the road - two minutes from my parents - where I thought we could, eventually, be happy.

It needed lots of work doing to it, but I thought this might provide a distraction from my grief and give me something to focus on other than my loss.

My brother Christopher said his friend Adam, a 30-year-old builder, might be able to help me lick the new house into shape.

Adam and I had met a few times before, so I arranged for him to come round and advise on the work that needed doing.

New love: Jayne and her fiance Adam

Adam knew of my loss and was considerate and professional, and his advice was very helpful.

I moved in towards the end of September. A month later, I held a Halloween party for the sake of the children, and I invited Adam along with our friends.

He was easy to talk to, and we seemed to have lots in common as we chatted in the kitchen that late afternoon.

Not only had his mother worked with Neil's mum, but he'd known my brother for years through mutual friends. Again, I wouldn't say there was any chemistry as such - we just got on well.

Two weeks later, Adam phoned and invited me out for dinner. I was surprised and hesitant.

Was it too soon after losing Neil to go on a date? It was a dilemma, but in the end I decided to say yes, if only for a couple of hours away from being sad, in the company of someone who made me laugh.

It did feel strange getting dressed up for a date after so many years. I pulled on a checked skirt with a purple top and felt very nervous.

We went to an Italian restaurant and I was surprised that my awkwardness evaporated. And as we chatted, I noticed that I was warming to him; I found him attractive.

There was no guilt, nor did I feel like I was betraying Neil. Adam is completely different and being with him felt completely different.

We really hit it off that evening, and I felt I could trust Adam despite being vulnerable. We talked about friends we had in common and I spoke openly about my grief.

When Adam dropped me home, he leant in to give me a gentle kiss goodbye and it felt completely natural.

It was only when I thought about it the following morning that I found I was torn.

Neil had only been gone seven months. I couldn't imagine how a man would fit into my life, which was all about my children, and of course I worried about getting hurt.

But I saw Adam several times over the next few weeks while he worked on the house. I could grieve and cry in front of him. He didn't mind.

I handled my twinges of guilt that it was too soon by reminding myself that Neil would not have wanted me to be alone. Somehow, I felt his presence, and sensed he was happy I had a supportive man like Adam in my life.

I never stopped thinking about Neil, but I also felt someone like Adam might never come along again. I didn't want to lose him.

We worried what other people would think, so we kept our relationship secret for the first month.

Adam visited me in the evenings after the children had gone to bed. It seemed too soon to introduce a new man into their lives.

I also didn't know how I would break the news to Neil's parents, who had been so supportive. Nobody could ever take Neil's place, but would they see it that way?

Adam started to stay for the odd night. Amazingly, being intimate didn't feel wrong. I realized it was time for a new life.

So I decided to introduce Adam to the children.

'When Adam kissed me for the first time it felt so natural - but in the morning I felt a pang of guilt'

He started coming over for tea and he was great with them, taking them to the park and the swimming pool and helping Alexander with his homework. They grew to think the world of him.

One evening, I asked them how they would feel about Adam moving in. I was relieved when they started jumping excitedly on the bed. Having Adam round was like an adventure to them. 

Mum said she had guessed we were together but I was still afraid of telling Neil's parents. Thankfully, they took it well and assured me I was still young and deserved to be happy.

Neil's mum has since confessed they worried they might lose touch with their grandchildren, but the children see them every week, and there is no awkwardness when Adam drops them off.

Adam moved in with us in March 2011. I still occasionally worried when I had to explain to Neil's old friends that I'd met someone else.

Happy family: Jayne with her partner Adam, son Alexander, and daughters Amy and Maisy

And there have been some awkward moments when people assume Alexander and Amy are Adam's children - and Alexander turns round and says: 'My daddy's in heaven.' But if people ever thought badly of us, they didn't say so.

Six months after Adam moved in, we started trying for a baby.

I know some people will say that was too soon as well - and again, I didn't find it easy telling Neil's parents or friends - but it felt right to us, and we thought a new baby would be a wonderful way to cement our relationship.

We were prepared for the fact that it might take a year or two for me to get pregnant, so we were surprised and delighted when I conceived as soon as we started trying.

Our daughter Maisy was born in July last year. She's created a special bond between all of us. Adam and I are getting married next May.

I still grieve for Neil, and I always will - particularly on the children's birthdays.

We have his framed photograph in our sitting room, and the children have their own albums of pictures of their father.

Adam will never replace him, and he wouldn't want to, but he is a wonderful father figure to them.

Some people might find it hard to understand how I could move on so quickly. But Neil's death proves that life is too short and I'm not ashamed of what has happened.

At 33, I'm just thankful to have met two such wonderful men in one lifetime. I count my blessings every day. 

Interview: Alison Smith-Squire

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2334837/How-soon-TOO-soon-widow-fall-love-Just-months-death-beloved-husband-Jayne-seeing-new-man-.html

When Our Memories Smell Like Us

When Our Memories Smell Like Us

Posted by Caleb Wilde

Four months after Newtown, People magazine has published a series called, “Life After Newtown Shootings” where the parents describe their grief and how they are coping.  It’s a beautiful series and well-worth your time and the three dollar Kleenex box that you’ll go through.

One of the parents mentions that she still sleeps with her son’s pajamas so that she can be soothed by “his smell.”  Certainly, considering the tragedy of Newtown, there is nothing abnormal about her practice.  In fact, it’s healthy and I can’t help but feel the heaviness of her grief as I think about it.

  

Here’s a question: A what point has her son’s smell disappeared and what she thinks is her son’s smell is actually her own smell.  At what point in sleeping with his pajamas have they stopped smelling like her son and started to smell like her?

At funerals, you’ll often hear people say, “Cathy lives on in all of our memories” or, “Cathy will never die as longs as we remember her.”

There’s a difficulty that comes with remembering our loved one.

I remember an old man, who was married to his late wife for over 50 years, stopped into funeral home to pay his bill and he said, “I both grieve the loss of my wife and the distortion of my memories of her.  Even now, when I remember her, I ask myself, “Is this memory real or is it my mind’s adaptation of her?  I only want to remember the good, but I miss the bad and messy nearly as much because it’s who she was.”

There’s a time when the smell on the pajamas becomes our own.  There’s a time when memories are distorted by our desires for comfort.  But, this is why we must grieve in community … so that community can help us piece together the real.

Grief must take place in community!  We have to share, we have to be vulnerable with our friends and family.

Share at your family dinners … over the holidays.

Be brave and ask your parents old friends about mom/dad.  Ask your child’s friends … your spouse’s co-workers.

Have people write down their memories.

Talk.  Talk. Talk.  

Talk about your deceased loved one.  Don’t let the memories die.  Don’t let them become distorted.

About the author
Caleb Wilde

I'm a sixth generation funeral director. I have a grad degree in Missional Theology. And I like to read and write.

Connect with my writing and book plans by "liking" me on facebook. And keep tabs with my blog via subscription or twitter.

http://www.calebwilde.com/

www.connectingdirectors.com

Grief Is Like Cutting Yourself Shaving

Grief Is Like Cutting Yourself Shaving

Guest article from: Lauren Polanski

If you end up going to Mortuary School, you’re going to end up learning about Elisabeth Kübler-Ross. She’s like the ‘Go-To’ gal when it comes to grief. I remember spending nights studying with my classmates trying to learn her Five Stages of Grief. DABDA. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.  After awhile it started to sound like a Flintstones episode in our dorm rooms with us yelling, “DABDA, DABDA, DOOOO!” (Kidding, kidding…we tried not to yell…) And I mean, sure her theory works. In theory. But (in my opinion) her guidelines are a little outdated. Let me tell you what grief if like from the perspective of a twenty-two year old, new to the business, funeral director.

Grief is like cutting yourself shaving.

I’m serious.

Okay, let me explain.

About two months ago I was taking a nice bubble bath. As I put down my book I took a look at my legs in the tub. They needed a good haircut. So I grab the shaving cream and my razor. As I lathered up my legs my mind started to wander. It does that a lot. And maybe I wasn’t paying much attention. Or maybe my razor was too dull. But I cut myself. Bad.

When I say bad you may not just understand how bad. So let me paint you a picture so you know how I felt. On my right leg right above my ankle I basically skinned off two good inches of flesh. Seriously. You know when you’re cooking mashed potatoes and right before you put them into the boiling-hot pot you skin them? Well, potato = Lauren’s leg. I had to pull my skin out of my razor because it clogged it. THAT’S how bad.

My initial reaction to said cut? A blood piercing scream. You can imagine that a cut will hurt, but you never know just how deep the pain goes until you experience it firsthand. Someone can come up to me and go, “Lauren, I’ve cut myself shaving before, I know how you feel.” And maybe they have cut themselves and they do know. But the pain that I felt, it was all my own. Only I know how bad it really hurt me. So what did I do after I cut myself? I took a nearby washcloth and I wrapped it around my leg. Tried to take my mind off of the situation. Hey, a girl has to finish her bath after all.

When I did finish I got out and put two band-aids on the wound. That’s right, one just wouldn’t cut it for me. And I went about my day. And the cut affected me. Because no matter how much I tried to ignore it, the pain was still present. Every time I took a step forward I was reminded about my cut. The next day I took off the band-aids to clean it and to my surprise the cut looked just as fresh as ever. I mean, it was still bleeding! So I washed it, and put on two fresh band-aids.  As the week went on I had good days and bad days. I couldn’t wear certain shoes because they brought out the pain in my leg. If I hit my leg against anything I would again be reminded by pain rushing back to the section of my leg where I had no skin. And when (a couple of months later) the cut did heal I was reminded about it again because of the scar that it left behind.

Are you still with me? Or did you have to excuse yourself because my descriptions were too much for you? Let’s recap.

When you’re grieving, people may have gone through similar situations, but only you know how it made you feel. Pain and hurt are difficult to explain. What may feel like a large burden to one person may not be the same for another. 

Remember your grief is your own.

You may not think that your grief is that bad and you may try to just wrap a washcloth around it and go on with your normal routine. For some people, staying busy helps them. For others, they’ll need to stop and really focus on their grief at hand.

Sometimes, the ‘normal’ amount of time/help/crying just doesn’t cut it with grief. Don’t be afraid to put two band-aids on even though others only used one.

Your grief may still ‘be bleeding’ the next day. When things are fresh it may take some time to get over it. Don’t let this scare you.  You’ll have good days and bad days. There will be things that remind you of your grief. There will be situations that make the grief sting like it’s fresh. It’s all okay.

And lastly, there will be a scar. There is a void in your life where something or someone once was. But you can make the scar beautiful. It doesn’t have to be a painful reminder. It can be a reminder of all the good times and memories that are still in your heart.

So there you have it. Grief, explained by Lauren. I hope that Elisabeth Kübler-Ross can help you if you’re going through a difficult time. She was a pretty awesome lady after all. And if you find that you’re all DABDA’d out, maybe you’ll look at your razor, think of me and my story and smile.

About the author, Lauren Polanski

Lauren is just like any other twenty-two year old girl besides for the small fact that she’s a licensed funeral director in New York State. Lauren is currently employed at the Lakeside Memorial Funeral Home, Inc. located in Hamburg, NY. When not working she enjoys reading, taking photographs and of course, writing about the funeral industry as seen through her eyes.  www.littlemissfuneral.wordpress.com