An Open Letter to a Grieving Student

Dear Student,

The timing of all this seems unfortunate. It feels like it has been no time at all since I posted about Self Advocacy and Mental Illness, but a minute since I published A Message to a Grieving Mother, and not so long since I shared His Absence, My Absence. I fear that I am becoming an expert, not academically, but emotionally, on the grief that stems from suicide, particularly the suicide of the young. This is not a specialty I would wish on anyone.

I hope that you have never experienced this grief before, and I hope you will not again. Having lost one of your best friends, you now belong to the club of people To Whom the Unimaginable is Now Imaginable. You told me that you didn't even know that she was sad, that you wish you could have helped her more. We often do not know that people are sad. I'm sure that you helped her more than you know. I'm sure, knowing you, that you loved her the best you could. Perhaps for you, she lasted one more day. Perhaps because of you, her load of pain was lightened, if even slightly.

I struggled when you told me this to know what to do. I always do. I always will. Even having been through it, I can't claim to know what you want or need. You probably don't know. I didn't want to offer you cheap platitudes or meaningless cliches. I wanted you to feel heard, to feel cared for, to know that you're not responsible, to understand that however you feel right now is okay. I only see you once a week, but from the fact that you come see me during lunch, I'm guessing that we have connected, and so my guess is that my reaction to this matters.

So what did I say? What did I do?

1. I hugged you.

It was a little awkward, but you seemed okay with hugging. In reality, all I had to offer you was my presence, and a hug is a tangible gift of that.

2. I asked you if you wanted to tell me about her.

Not everyone does, but a lot of people do. People who do not belong to the club of Unimaginableness might feel uncomfortable doing this - it can seem morbid or tense, or they worry that it will make you sadder. I know that nothing will make you sadder. I don't know if telling me about her helped, but even years after my brother's death, I find myself wanting to talk about him with strangers who don't know what to say or who are shocked that I can speak of him calmly.

3. I offered you a tissue.

Again, I have little to give you, but the dignity of wiping your eyes and blowing your nose is a small grace.

4. I stood next to you and was quiet.

This felt awkward to me. It feels awkward to most people. But in light of the fact that I knew I had nothing constructive to say, I offered you my presence.

5. I told you to drink hot beverages.

Sheldon Cooper would approve. Everyone grieves in their own way, and some people eat ice cream, or chocolate, or drink tea. I'm not sure that hot beverages actually helped after my brother died, but I was doing something, fighting to survive and not collapse so much that I never got out of the black hole I felt might swallow me up. Making tea, or coffee, or hot cocoa was a ritual I could perform as part of self-care. Self-care. You may be tempted to ignore your own feelings and try to take care of others you know whom you feel are suffering more than you. You may be tempted to try to carry on like this didn't happen. I hope you don't. But find your kind of self-care and pursue it relentlessly. Falling apart is okay. Collapsing into a sinkhole permanently isn't.

6. I talked about ways I help myself remember and feel close to my brother.

In my case, I listen to music he liked, post on his facebook wall, and eat his favorite chocolates around his birthday. I know that he will always be in my heart, and I think about him every day. You will too. Sometimes having a way to express that more tangibly - whatever that way is for you - helps.

I will not see you for two weeks because of Election Day. I hope when I see you again, you will have found ways of processing your grief. I hope that in the end, this strengthens your beautiful spirit and encourages you to love more sweetly and fiercely. These things don't happen for that. I'm not telling you that everything happens for a reason. But I hope that you will choose to love coming out of this, and not to withdraw.

You will be on my heart and in my prayers, sweetie.