- “I know how hard this must be.” No you don’t. You don’t have a single clue what I’m going through. Even if you’ve been through what I’m going through, it’s not the same and therefore you have absolutely no idea how hard this is. You have no idea how hard it is to make the decision to get out of bed every day because there is a family relying on me. Because there is a little girl who doesn’t have a clue what’s going on inside of your broken heart who needs her diaper changed, to be fed breakfast, but most of all who just flat out needs her mommy.
- “Isn’t there something they can give you?” I have a prescription of Ambien for when I absolutely can’t sleep. I think I”ve taken it three times since I’ve come home. How is taking something to numb the pain going to get me through the grieving process any faster? I honestly don’t see how it can. Please stop trying to shove pills down my throat. It’s not a coping mechanism for me.
- “You look great.” No, actually. I don’t. Thanks for trying to make me feel better. It’s not working.
- “Are you alright?” See three. No. I’m not alright. I’m not okay. I’m not fine. I don’t look like I’m doing great.
I literally think the only right thing you can say to someone who is grieving is “I’m so sorry.” and “There are no words”. There’s no consoling. There is support and letting someone know that you’re there for them IF AND WHEN they want to talk to you.
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