Listening is Love: Helping a Parent Who has Lost a Child

It has been nearly two years since my daughter, Elizabeth, committed suicide. Beyond the tragic loss of my child, there is the stigma and enigma of her suicide to cope with. Matters are further complicated by my firm belief that Elizabeth’s suicide was induced by her SSRI antidepressant, Celexa. Her death turned my world upside-down and put me on a most difficult and uninvited path. If you know someone on such a path here are some thoughts and considerations that might help you support a grieving parent.

What I needed most at the time of Elizabeth’s death (and still need) was someone to listen to me (even if I was repeating the same things in conversation after conversation).

Talking about loss helps heal. Listening is love.

What I didn’t need, however well intended, was unsolicited advice—especially spiritual witticisms like “Life is for the Living”. This particular phrase, however true, contains a subtle message, which translates to the griever as: “You have got to move on. You have got to get over this. Please stop talking about this.”

In the first month or so after Elizabeth’s death, most people were willing to listen and comfort me. Over time the support diminished. Most people had moved on and wanted to talk about something more pleasant. Survivors of their child’s death sense this resistance and shut down. They know they have little new to say and don’t want to bring others down. In this dilemma, survivors find themselves more and more isolated. If you are trying to support a surviving parent, letting them know that you are willing to listen, even if it’s the same old story, is very helpful.

It turns out that honestly revealing to a survivor that fact that you don’t really know what to say is incredibly helpful: “I don’t know what it must be like for you or what to say, but I am terribly sorry for your loss” is just the right thing to say. Each time I heard something like this from a friend or stranger, I knew they were telling me the truth. I was able to embrace and benefit from their sympathy.

I found talking with other parents who had lost children to be most helpful. In such a conversation a couple of months after Elizabeth died, a grieving parent shared that the worst period of pain occurred for her six or seven months after her daughter’s death. This is the time when all traces of “protective” shock have dissipated and the harsh finality of the death hits home in a way that is just as devastating as the initial death. This is the time when fewer want to listen and the survivor is again desperately in need of support.

I was fortunate this grieving mother shared her “second period of devastation”—thus preparing me. Seven months after losing Elizabeth and making fairly steady progress in healing, the finality of my loss hit home with inexplicable force. I missed Elizabeth desperately. Though my intellect told me long ago that I would never see her again, my heart hadn’t embraced this cold fact. Now my heart felt the bitter permanence of her passing.  I was again utterly devastated—in as much or more pain as the day I lost Elizabeth. Up to this point, my heart held a secret hope that, one day, I would wake up and discover that the loss of my daughter was just a very bad dream, that I would awaken to the happier world which I lived in before Elizabeth’s death, and everything would be alright again. This new pain came when my heart finally gave up its secret hope. The permanence of Elizabeth’s death had finally hit home in the deepest and most vulnerable part of my being.   

Processing grief is not a steady progression of healing. There are setbacks that reopen all the wounds and pain—not just at anniversaries or holidays, but at the most unexpected moments. If you are supporting a grieving parent, be prepared for these setbacks as the often “come out of the blue.”

If the griever has asked for advice, the suggestion of Grief Counseling is useful and appropriate. However, habitually making this suggestion comes across as “Stop talking about this to me. Talk to someone else.”

Sharing positive memories about the lost child is very helpful to a grieving parent. After losing Elizabeth, one of my greatest fears was that, with the passage of time, I would forget about Elizabeth. However irrational such a fear may seem to an outsider, it is very real for the parent. When the positive memory of the lost child is periodically brought into conversation, it is very reassuring. Though it probably doesn’t show on the outside, even years later grieving parents are still frequently thinking about their lost child. Hearing the memories from others lets them know that their child is still remembered by someone other than themselves.

There are also times, when I don’t want to talk about my daughter or her death. I try to kindly convey this to people who initiate the subject. Usually my cue is taken with kind understanding.

It cannot be overstated that is a difficult role to stand by and support a grieving parent. Trying to balance what to say, what not to say, when to say, and when not to say is not an exact science. Also, there are times when the supporter may not want to or is not able to listen or talk. This is only natural. Often the griever misses the supporter’s cues and feels hurt or shut down. Helping a grieving parent is a noble, delicate, and arduous role.

What I have shared here is based primarily on my personal experience in combination with what I have heard and read from professionals and others. It is true that grief is a personal process and that we do not all grieve in the same manner. What one grieving parent needs may not be what another needs.

The following is true for me and all other grieving parents I have spoken with: talking about our lost children is essential to the grieving and healing process. We need those who are willing to listen. Again, listening is love.

James Torlakson, Elizabeth’s father

November, 24, 2005