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Grief Groceries!
Grief Groceries!
I saw this letter today- as a funeral directors son, I have been around this for years. This is some of the best advice I have ever seen.
“Hey there, Thanks for writing. I’m really glad your friend has you in her life. I get it. Grief is a funny thing. It’s the time in our lives when we most need help, and it's also the time when asking for help is so hard. Not because we are ashamed to ask for help, although that happens sometimes, too. But mostly because our brain just sort of shuts down.
When my Dad died, I looked functional. But I wasn’t OK. Not at all. And when the news got out, the ton of people flooding me with calls, texts, and DM’s was overwhelming. I really couldn’t function. I sat on the swing in our yard and just stared into space.
People called and asked what they could do to help. I had no idea.
“Well, anything you need at all, let me know, OK?”
“OK”.
They hung up. I stared into space some more.
I had no idea what to do. What I needed. I didn’t even know what to ask for.
Then a friend sent a text. This friend had met Dad once but didn’t really know him. But still, she knew I was hurting. I saw who it was and almost put the phone down without reading the text, but I saw the message and it stopped me:
Will you be home at 8:30 tonight?
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What’s weird is this friend lives 12 hours away from me.
Yes, I replied.
“K.”
10 minutes later, she said, “Instacart will be there at 8:30. Open the door for them.”
“What?”
“Grief Groceries.!!”
When Instacart showed up, they put two large bags of groceries on my porch. Frozen pizzas. Ice cream. Oreo cookies. Tinned soup. Stouffer’s lasagna. A gallon of milk. Like that. Things I could heat up if I needed a meal, or pig out on if I needed fat and sugar. Sometimes, you just need to eat half a box of Oreos.
Notice she didn’t ask if I needed any food. I would have said no. She just asked if I would be home.
Grief groceries.
Another friend, who lives out of town, asked Renee to name a restaurant near our house where we like to eat. There is a local chain near our house that is sort of a deli. When we eat supper there, we spend about $25. Renee told her the name of the place.
An hour later, there was a gift card in my inbox for $250. Yes, that is a lot of money, and I understand not everyone can do that. But the wonderful thing was that because it was enough for multiple meals, we didn’t try to save it for “the right time”. We ate there that night and take out from there several times a week for the next month on nights when I didn’t have the spoons to cook.
Both of those gift-givers knew something I didn’t know – that when you are grieving, you don’t want to make decisions. No, that’s not quite it: You can’t make decisions. You hit decision fatigue really fast.
So, I guess what I’m saying is, don’t ask grieving people to make big choices or decisions. “How can I help” is a big choice. But “Can I take the kids this afternoon so you can have some time to yourself?” is a much smaller one.
“Will you be home tonight?” is a small choice. “What restaurant do you like” is a small decision.
Just showing up to cut their grass because you noticed it needed cutting is loads better than asking, “Do you want me to cut the grass?” Or, “I’m going to Target. What can I get you while I’m there?” is better than “Can I run any errands for you?”
It won’t always be like this. If you stick around, eventually, they will surface and ways to be helpful will make themselves known. But in the first few days, it helps to remove as many decisions from their plate as possible!”
Original Words from: Hugh Hollowell Jr.
Talking about death could completely change our relationship with it, and remove some of the fear
Talking about death could completely change our relationship with it, and remove some of the fear
By Anna Kelsey-Sugg, Chloe Adams and Amber Tripp for Life Matters
When Megan Maurice was diagnosed with breast cancer at 36, her daughter Pia was only seven.
And while Megan's prognosis was good, the thought of how she would broach the topic of death with her daughter was definitely something that weighed on her mind.
"If things took a turn for the worse, if it had spread further than we thought, how would I talk about that with her?" she tells ABC Radio National's Life Matters.
"It was something that I always knew I wanted to be really up front with.
"As soon as I got the diagnosis, I knew that I wanted to talk to her about it and let her know what was happening."
The Death Letter Project
The Death Letter Project
The Death Letter Project was conceived as part of a PhD research project in late 2014. My initial goal was to invite fifty Australians to handwrite a letter, responding to: What is death; and what happens when we die?
The Death Letter Project was conceived as part of a PhD research project in late 2014. My initial goal was to invite fifty Australians to handwrite a letter, responding to: What is death; and what happens when we die?
The letters, designed for public display alongside photographic portraits of each contributor, were intended to inspire fresh thought, contemplation, re-imagining and conversation about death - undoubtedly the most mystifying, feared, and significantly undiscussed human experience in modern western society.
The letters, designed for public display alongside photographic portraits of each contributor, were intended to inspire fresh thought, contemplation, re-imagining and conversation about death - undoubtedly the most mystifying, feared, and significantly undiscussed human experience in modern western society.
Since the commencement of this project, as letters gradually began to arrive by mailbox or personal delivery, I would relish the seemingly sacred ritual of reading them: finding a quiet space in which to sit; the sacrosanct moment of unfolding them - followed by the intimate act of reading them - in many cases baring witness to the innermost beliefs, observances, grief, loss and loves of another. As I have discovered with every letter received, I have an insatiable desire and curiosity to learn more about death from the perspective of others - including a select few who have been resuscitated after cardiac arrest and have written about their "death" experiences.
The other dimension to the project - the photographic portraits - were generally taken within weeks of receiving the contributor's letter, and in settings familiar to them. As the photographer, this experience in itself was an intimate act: being invited into the private world of an acquaintance or stranger and directing them (however minimally) in order to best utilize the natural light and create the most engaging portraits.
To conclude, it is my hope that this project continues to expand beyond my initial goal of 50 letters/portraits, and contributes to the re-emergence of death literacy in western culture: normalizing conversations around death, and with any luck, lessening some of the fear and taboo surrounding it.
—Tina FiveAsh
Go to Website to read the letters and discussions.
Surfing the Waves of Grief
Surfing the Waves of Grief
A journey of letting be, letting go, and letting in.
by Jaimie Lusk, Psy.D. Reposted from Psychology Today, January 28, 2025
Key Points:
There is no "normal" way to grieve; any reaction to loss is valid.
Letting be means allowing yourself to feel your emotions without judgment.
Letting go involves releasing limiting beliefs, behaviors, and attachments.
Letting in requires opening yourself to new experiences, connections, and growth.
Whether it's the end of a romantic relationship, the death of a loved one, or the loss of a cherished dream, grief is a natural response to the void left behind.
In this post, we'll explore the concept of grief through the lens of "Let be, Let go, Let in” (Hanson, 2013), a framework that encourages us to embrace our emotions, release what no longer serves us, and open ourselves to new possibilities.
This framework is not meant to be linear—more like a recipe with three ingredients—you need to keep "tasting the sauce" to see what you need to add next.
Coping With Loss Part 1: Let Be
Coping With Loss Part 1: Let Be
Give them the chance to say goodbye.
Give them the chance to say goodbye.
Over the years, I have been asked by families to “please don’t tell them they are dying.” I have sat at bedsides where family members pleaded with me not to say the word hospice or acknowledge death out loud. I always hold that request with respect. I know the reasons are deeply personal, woven from culture, tradition, history, and love. I would never dismiss those choices. Still, what I have witnessed time and again is that the person who is dying almost always already knows. Their bodies tell them. Their hearts know. Their awareness deepens, even if no one around them dares to name it.
What stays with me are the moments lost when the truth is withheld. I have seen people leave without the chance to say goodbye, without being given the opening to speak words they have held close for years, words of forgiveness, apology, or gratitude. I believe those conversations, as painful as they might feel, are among the most sacred parts of dying. When we avoid them, we sometimes protect ourselves more than we protect the person we love.
This is not simple, and I don’t pretend there is only one way. There are situations where speaking directly isn’t possible or appropriate. But from what I have witnessed, I believe that naming what is real gives people the chance to meet the end of life on their own terms, with dignity, honesty, and peace. And to me, that is one of the greatest gifts we can offer.
Read the Full article by Gabrielle Elise Jimenez
Coping with Grief / Coping with Grief : Litsa
Recently, going through some boxes that had moved with me, unopened, over several moves, I found a stack of cards. It was every sympathy card that I received after my father's death. I was only 18 when my dad died, so many of these cards were from other teenagers - friends, struggling for words. There is a lot I could say about these cards - things I am sure I will write about another day. But there was one that stood out. It was not a card sent in the weeks or months following my dad's death. It was a card sent over a year later.
Just about one year after my father died, my dear friend's father died. This card I found was from her, sent just a couple of months after her father's death. The card was an apology - a note saying that she wished she'd done more for me after my father died, but that she simply hadn't understood. It was not until her own father died that she knew. And with that knowledge came regret - regret for not saying more or doing more for me.
The moment I read the card, which I had forgotten entirely, all my own grief support regrets came flooding in. Before my father's death, I once learned that a friend's brother had died. The death had happened months before and, rather than immediately calling him, I hesitated, thinking it would just be an unwanted reminder. As though he'd somehow forgotten! (palm to head). And I wish I could say that was the only grief support misstep I ever made . . .
Read the Full article by Litzsa
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