Consider this a further reflection on the matters explored in this post, written just two days after my wife Grace died suddenly of causes undetermined.
The past two months have been a series of revelations. People’s responses to a personal tragedy befalling someone else illustrate a lot about them, society, and human nature generally.
Such moments are when true friends show their character. I wrote earlier about my friend Tom Fuller jumping into his car and driving the ten hours from Connecticut to Alexandria even as I told him not to. Tom checked into a hotel and gave me desperately needed emotional support and expert assistance—he’s a lawyer, tax specialist and obsessively organized individual in sharp contrast to me—for five days. My sister, with whom I have often had an adversarial relationship, also came through, handling many tasks related to Grace’s death that I was ill-equipped to deal with emotionally and in some cases financially. Both of them have subsequently checked in with me by phone almost every day.
A few other friends have been equally attentive and caring, in one case someone whom I had lost touch with almost completely. All of my college room mates have reached out with more than pro forma cards, either by phone or with substantive letters. (My law school room mates, and I had a lot of them, have either died or vanished from my life.) I was genuinely surprised to receive a nice note from my former fiancee, my engagement to whom Grace had broken up, even as I had broken up Grace’s engagement at the same time.
Facebook has also delivered some comforting surprises. I did not expect child actor advocate (and “Donna Reed Show” co-star) Paul Petersen to take the time to send a sensitive note, but he did, and I should have expected it. That’s the kind of person he is. My Facebook friends have also been incredibly tolerant of my posts about my travails, doubts and traumas since February 29. Using the platform as an occasional journal has been therapeutic for me, though excessively self-indulgent.
Several associates and acquaintances gave gifts to organizations in memory of Grace, including many of you. I was swamped with food from neighbors and other friends: I just threw out the last of the delicious ham my neighbors gave me, and what’s left of the wonderful lasagna another freind sent will go today.
The record for the worst response to my situation will be held evermore by the miscreants responsible for the incident described in this recent post. I still can’t believe it happened. Another neighbor came by unexpectedly with the fixings for tacos and knocked on my door. I didn’t recognize her at all: I still don’t know her name.
Meanwhile, I have developed a visceral dislike for the reflex response, “I’m sorry for your loss.'” I know that’s unfair to many of those (including many of you) who have employed it in the absence of knowing how else to react while seeking to acknowledge my situation and demonstrate caring. It is the scripted nature of that line that I have detected in the dead-toned voices of customer service reps over the past two months that has probably poisoned the phrase for me. When did that become the official mantra? My sister thinks it came from TV procedurals, in which police inevitably kick off interviews with grieving strangers who are friends or relatives of a murder victim with a rote “I’m sorry for your loss.”
My favorite response, which came from one very old and dear friend and another professional acquaintance whom I have never met face-to face, is “Holy FUCK!”
Yeah, that’s pretty much my reaction too.
[The WordPress bot wants me to tag this post with “God,” “Christianity,” and “prayer.” Huh.]
Ethics Alarms 
Jack wrote, “I have developed a visceral dislike for the reflex response, “I’m sorry for your loss.’” I know that’s unfair to many of those (including many of you) who have employed it in the absence of knowing how else to react while seeking to acknowledge my situation and demonstrate caring. It is the scripted nature of that line that I have detected in the dead-toned voices of customer service reps over the past two months that has probably poisoned the phrase for me. When did that become the official mantra?”
On the flip side of that; “I’m sorry for your loss.” has become a fully acceptable and appropriate phrase in our culture and, as you’ve pointed out on Ethics Alarms a number of times, being reasonably up-to-date about our current culture is not necessarily a bad thing. In days gone past things like “please accept my condolences” was a culturally acceptable phrase, times change. None of the boiler plate kind of phrases we use in our culture like “our thoughts and prayers are with you” say very much and do very much to help the grieving process. I suppose saying nothing would be worse but then that would be using a rationalization.
In the end, acknowledging that those that are still alive are grieving the loss of someone drives us as human beings and culturally to show some kind of compassion if for no other reason than we know what grieving is because we’ve been there or we anticipate knowing at sometime what this kind of grieving is. I think we all know that grieving the death of a loved one is not fun. In my opinion, this is what’s behind those boilerplate phrases.
Good thoughts, Steve.
I do think the phrase has almost reached the point of being cliché. But I have also learned through experiences – both lived and observed – that people often think they have exactly the right words that, when said, will bring immediate comfort to the grieving. I have discovered that those people (including myself) are almost always wrong…often terribly so. Grief in this life cannot be wholly cured by anything or anyone, let alone words. Usually when I say something like “I’m so sorry”, I am simultaneously admitting that if I say a lot more, I risk adding the weight of anger to the grief that’s already heavy.
Jack, I’m encouraged by all the tangible, physical, and edible support you have received. In a world where we “send a text message to show we care” – and I think that’s the most careless thing we can do – it’s great to read about how so many have reached out to you in ways that require far more effort and more creativity. They are those who understand that “I can’t undo your loss, but this is something I can do.”
I could supply the God, Christianity, and prayer context, if you’d like… I’m just not sure if you would. But if it makes the AI happy…
I certainly don’t know how to properly respond to someone’s tragedy. But my wife and I have been praying for you and for Grace. I have a prayer group in Rawlins, Wyoming that I’m still in contact with, and they’ve been praying for you every Thursday morning at their 6:00 AM (MT) prayer meeting.
I’m very happy you’ve had friends and family supporting you these past couple of months. I wish I knew something more to say, because everything I can think of sounds so trite. What do you say to someone who has lost half (and the better half) of his life?
You’ve challenged me, Jack, just through offering your perspective and commentary, and I appreciate how much that challenge has helped clarify so many issues. So in return, I offer my prayers. I don’t know if that ranks any better than “Sorry for your loss”, but there it is.
Ryan, I agree with you.
My father-in-law passed away in December, 2023. It has been very hard on my wife and her mother. While both have deep, deep faith, they are still grieving. My wife thinks there is something amiss with her because she remembers things that bring her to tears. I reassure her that it is normal, that the process is difficult but eventually the hurt fades and the memories remain, which she will be able to cherish for the rest of her life. I also suggest that, because she had a very good relationship with her father, that she will not have feelings of regret for not having resolved differences before he passed away. Still, it is hard . . .
Our son, just turned 20 years old, tries to be all “I don’t feel a thing” about it but I know he is carrying some deep sorrow, too. He adored my father-in-law, and the feelings were mutual. I think my father-in-law saw a lot of himself in our son, stubbornness, not suffering fools well, and intuitive to a fault. My father-in-law gave him an engraved compass for Christmas, with a simple “Te quiero” written in nice script on this inside of the lid. My son interpreted that to mean, “John Michael, I may be with you forever, but if you need anything, pull out this compass and I will help it show you the way.” Very touching.
I could not have asked for a better father-in-law. A force of nature and a bit of a buttinsky, you could never, ever challenge his perception or good intentions, except when it came to changing that damn light fixture on the back porch – I still cannot figure what the hell he did and why the stupid light works 1/4 of the time.
I hear “sorry for your loss” and take it for what most mean – a recognition that you are suffering and/or grieving, and offering sympathy. I acknowledge it with a simple “thank you” and move on to the front porch where I raise my fist to the world and shout “Damn you! Damn you all to Hell!”
jvb
My younger brother died unexpectedly about 10 days ago, and we too went through those cliches with his wife and daughters. My sisters and I flew out to Nebraska, which was especially challenging since one sister cannot walk and is in an electric wheelchair.
It really hit me when we got to the viewing and then at the cemetery. But the wonderful thing about the viewing and reception was that it let us see how many lives Rick had touched and how respected he was at the university. It truly was a celebration of his life.
I was both the giver and recipient of those platitudes, and I think they are as helpful as a lot of folks can be. I will also say that going out to the funeral let us see a lot of our relatives we hadn’t had the chance to see in many years.
May your brother rest in peace.
jvb
Sis is right. We have Dick Wolf to thank for, “Sorry for your loss.”
Great to hear you’ve received so much well-deserved support.
The phrase is safe. Despite the fact we all go through grief at some point in our lives, people react to it so differently, and we’re afraid to upset them anymore than they already are. I’ve heard dozens of well-intended statements that deviated from the standard sympathies, and people have lashed out, cried, and even in one case spit in the person’s face as a result.
People for the most part are sympathetic when it comes to loss. In their empathy, they want to do something. So they try.
I am sorry for your loss Jack. Having not loss my wife, I can’t relate, but I can be understanding. I understand life for you will never be the same. Maybe you might go on. Maybe you might even find someone else, but the love you had for Grace will never die and you will be a little broken because of it.
As such, its okay to be frustrated, angry, and hurt. It’s okay to lean on friends and family to let them know how you feel and we will listen because respect you. But because we fumble around in our inadequacies, we will say what we know in a desperate attempt to help you.
I’m sorry for your loss.