The Anger Part of Grief
Despite knowing that “anger” is one of Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’s “5 stages of grief”, I am always shocked when it turns up.
Somehow I imagine grief as softly weeping into a lace handkerchief or wandering the moors with tear-stained cheeks (“Wuthering Heights” has a lot to answer for) so when it turns into a hissing cat with claws out I am taken unawares.
It’s right there though, isn’t it? One minute you’re steeped in sadness with your heart open, giving and receiving condolences and kindness about someone you have lost, and the next you’d like to stab someone in the eye for saying Totally the Wrong Thing.
Just me? I don’t think so. There’s a reason families fight at funerals (not mine, but I’ve heard stories) and that funeral directors are adept at the art of gentle de-escalation. Emotions are raw, everything is close to the surface and amplified, the usual order of things often disrupted.
Plus it is hard to know The Totally Right Thing to say in these circumstances. It’s why people can stay away in tough times – because they don’t want to put their foot it in, make things worse, or risk discomfort. Seems crazy but death is still uncomfortable for many of us, despite its inevitability.
I’m not sure there ever is a “right” thing to say to someone grieving – turning up is the thing, sitting beside them (literally or metaphorically) and letting them know you are thinking of them is key. Also, bring cake.
When my mother died a few years ago, one of her oldest friends told me I’d been a good daughter and that meant the world to me. Someone else reminded me to be gentle with myself and, when you’re deep in the practicalities of death, it’s good to hear that.
But while there’s no perfect script for this, there are some doozies, some clangers, some cracking faux pas that should be banned from popular discourse.
I do not recommend reaching for, “They’re in a better place now” because a) that disregards the bereaved’s belief that the best place is with them still, you idiot, and b) you may be talking to an atheist.
And here’s the one that filled me with hot rage recently after the death of a very special friend. “I’m sorry for your loss – sadly we’re at that stage where we lose people close to us.”
Do not try this at home. First, this dismisses your grief as something ordinary and common (it is, but it feels deeply personal and very much unique to you, which it also is). His response read like a verbal shrug – “You’re old now, what did you expect?” - with an aftertaste of “get over it”.
Second, it tells you this terrible thing you are right now barely surviving is going to happen again and again and again for the rest of your life. Until it’s your turn, obviously. I don’t know about you, but that does not bring me comfort.
And we “lose people close to us” throughout our lives, not just as we age. I still grieve for the darling friend who died when I was 27. Each of us will have losses all along our timelines of friends and family, each loss painful and unique.
My final takeaway from my moment of rage is that, though older people may go to funerals more frequently, they’re probably not “getting used to it” either. Each one will be a grief of its own, deeply felt. Take them some cake.