On the death of a friend's child, what do I do?

Mundane Pointless Stuff I Must Share (MPSIMS)
#1

I received a troubling phone call today: a friend’s child had committed suicide.

I have no idea why. Understandably, I’m not about to ask my friend.

The child was 17 years old. The funeral is scheduled for Friday afternoon. I plan to be there. I have no idea what to do, other than show up. I want to comfort my friend and his wife, but I have no idea what to say, what to do. I have met the deceased on a few occasions, but not for long, and I don’t know him very well–not as well as I know his Dad and Mom, for example.

If anybody has any suggestions, I’d be grateful.

#2

Hug them?

#3

Stifle your curiosity, express your deep sadness and sympathy, offer your support and assistance if appropriate.

If you’re not sure what to say, that’s a cue to keep quiet.

#4

If you know his parents really well and really do want to be a help, instead of asking what you can do tell them what you are going to do, such as “I’m bringing dinner over tomorrow night,” or “I’m going to run to the grocery store for you (or pharmacy, whatever.) I’ll call to see what you need.” Something specific keeps them from having to think; sometimes grieving people need so much they can’t wrap their minds around what they actually could ask for.
I’m really sorry this has happened.

#5

Horrible for the parents. Just being there is good; doing something practical to help, as Becky2844 suggests, is also good. I don’t think there are words, other than “I’m so sorry.”

#6

Most of the time, fewer words are better. When we were actively grieving, people said so many insensitive things. They were well-meaning but clueless. So one person would say “I know how you feel.” Um, no you don’t. And the next would say “I can’t imagine how you feel.” Um, thanks, so this situation is so far outside your idea of normal that you can’t imagine it?

So, the best thing usually is something along the lines of “I’m so sorry. So very sorry. I’m at a loss for the right words, they all seem so inadequate.” Then hug them and listen with a gentle, nonjudgemental spirit.

Acknowledge their feelings without trying to change them. Repeat as necessary.
What they say may be incoherent or seem in appropriate. They may need to express anger at God or at the deceased, hopelessness or even relief. They may be numb and unable to do anything but go through the motions. Do not discount their feelings or tell them they are wrong or try to change what they are feeling. One of the sweetest pieces of comfort I received during a time of grief was “Whatever you are feeling, it’s ok.”

Perhaps the greatest kindness would be to contact them in a few weeks to offer to bring over a meal or take them out for dinner. There’s an outpouring of help right away when you are so numb you are almost on auto-pilot. And then people move on. And no one wants to talk about it because it’s ugly and it hurts. But you are finally feeling again and you need to talk.

#7

You’ve had some excellent advice already so I’ll just reiterate the best. I’m so sorry, I wish there were words that could say how much. Don’t compare it, don’t tell them it will get better and unless you know it’s their belief AND that it will make them feel better, don’t tell them their child is in a better place.

Offer specific help. “Can I do anything?” is pretty overwhelming. Find out if someone is coordinating assistance for them and volunteer your help to them. I’ll also second the thought of following up again a few weeks out the world has a short memory :frowning:

#8

All good advice so far. Jeeze, what a terrible phone call - what a terrible situation. I think the grieving family will be finding very little comfort in the world right now, but your presence and support can be a tiny bit of comfort in a very dark time, and that’s about all you can do, I guess.

#9

Hug them. Hold them. Let them guide you in what they need. If they break down crying on your shoulder, let them. If they put on a fake smile, let them. Most likely since you don’t know them well, they will control themselves as well as they can around you, and save the hysteria/agony for people they feel more comfortable about.

If you do feel the urge to cry or shed a tear, go ahead. Don’t be ashamed. It’s the one place where it’s 100% acceptable.

If the parents seem inclined, you can share a good memory of the kid. I know you don’t have many, but it’s easy to say something like “He was always so kind” or “He was such a funny guy.”

Don’t say “he’s gone to a better place” or “God will provide” or worst of all, “There’s a reason for everything” unless you know they like that sort of thing. All it does is minimize their grief.

Someone else said it - if you don’t know what to say, just keep quiet and listen. Not the time to be making the filler small talk!

#10

I’m stopping by to mow the lawn.
I’m coming over to do some dishes for you.
I’m going to swing by after work every day this week and take the dog for a walk.

Let them say no, but the concrete little tasks in life can be overwhelming. My brother in law just passed away and we had people over. My coffee cups ended up in a different cupboard, someone had just unloaded the dishwasher and re stacked it for me. Wonderful.

#11

That is so, so horrible :frowning:

Everyone else’s suggestions are great. The only thing I can really say is - just BE there. Call them regularly. Go see them regularly. Let 'em know that you’re willing to follow their lead - some people want to talk about the deceased a lot, others want and need everyday chitchat.

Everyone will be at the funeral. It’s the ones that are calling you a month, two months, six months after the funeral that you remember the most.

Don’t let them be alone on the kid’s birthday, unless they are adamant that they want to be. Ditto for Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s, etc. Was he due to graduate from high school next year? If so, don’t let them be alone on graduation night.

Offer to make phone calls, etc. Was the kid still in school? They may not want to go to the school to pick up his things – you could do that. I’d encourage them to go see a doctor – they’re gonna need something for sleep, most likely.

#12

I agree with all the above.

If you aren’t much of a cook, maybe a gift card for a local take-out restaurant.

#13

Good advice. I would also say: Don’t ask about the circumstances of death (they may never know “why” he did it), but do allow them to talk about their memories of their son. Often, people will avoid talking about the dead person. People are afraid to say anything about the dead person because they’re afraid they’ll bring up bad memories…but the truth is that they will be thinking about their son every day for the rest of their lives. Sometimes being able to talk about a dead loved one helps you feel as if they’re still “alive” in some sense, and you want to be able to share the memories.

#14

This is great! Bring up memories. Even if you didn’t know him well, I’m sure his parents talked about him, parents do. Say, “I remember when you mentioned that he made the high school basketball team… what a great athlete he was!” I’ll bet this will bring on other memories they have of his first basketball game when he was 7, or something like that.

#15

Many thanks, folks. It looks like the best approach is to offer condolences, and offer help, as the parents request it.

My friend (I’ll call him “Danny”) is the deceased’s father. I know his wife (I’ll call her “Wendy”) somewhat. But I know Danny best, as he and I have acted together in community theatre many times. We’ve been paired together in scenes, as we’ve been called (locally) another Laurel and Hardy. Needless to say, our relationship is based on a lot of laughs.

But it is also based on music. In our community theatre, we do musicals, and my singing experience (outside of musical theatre) is karaoke and church choir. I can read vocal music, but Danny has me beat in that department–he holds music degrees from a couple of universities–and he has been my vocal coach in any musical we have appeared in. And he’s a great coach. He is a choirmaster at a local church, and I have practiced with him–him at the piano, me singing–many times, on weekday afternoons, at his church. He invites me to sing with his church choir every Christmas (“Spoons, I need another bass voice–help me!”), and I always accept.

We are both in our community theatre’s upcoming production. Maybe, a couple of months post-funeral, I should suggest beer and pizza after a rehearsal, on me. We’ve done that a number of times before, after rehearsals. Perhaps this “what Spoons and Danny always do after rehearsal” will help bring Danny back to normal–or as close to normal as he can be, under the circumstances.

#16

Missed the edit window:

I guess that’s the difficult thing–Danny has been a great friend, a terrific vocal coach, and a fun comedy partner. But I barely knew his child at all. I know Danny and Wendy were very proud of their child, as any parents would be of a high school sports and theatre star, which the child was. If I had only known Danny and Wendy as acquaintances, it would be one thing; but I know Danny so well–and yet, I do not know what to say on Friday.

Perhaps offering condolences and help, and being quiet otherwise, is best.

Friends, thank you for the advice. It has been difficult.

#17

To summarize some of the excellent advice already offered, and to add some new advice:

[ul]
[li]Offer to help out with concrete tasks. Running errands to the supermarket, the drugstore, and other places are very helpful in particular because they may not want to go out because they may not feel like dealing with people for a while. The death of a child in general, and suicide in particular, brings out some very very rude and occasionally very very nasty behavior. Doing this for them would be a good thing until they’re ready to face the world.[/li][li]No platitudes. Offer genuine condolences; if you have nothing to say, a hug will suffice.[/li][li]Listen without judging. Everyone deals with the death of a child differently, and everyone has good days and bad days. On the good days, Danny will seem like nothing happened and everything’s OK. On the bad days, though, well, you’ll know it. If he needs to talk, just listen. Or he may choose not to confide in you at all. Don’t push it.[/li][li]ISTR that you’re an attorney. If you can do so without running afoul of legal ethics, offer your professional services if the couple needs them. Many people who lose children have to deal with the same legal issues that anyone else who has lost a loved one does, and those issues can be difficult to handle without help. (I learned that the hard way. I wish I’d gotten a lawyer to handle these little business things after my son died.)[/li][li]But don’t do anything unless they want you to do it. It’s presumptuous and condescending if you go ahead and do it. You can gently suggest that you do something to help out, but don’t force it.[/li][/ul]

#18

My friends sixteen year old died last Thursday. They were all jumping off a rock into the sea and he cracked heads with another boy, went under and drowned.

My friend, the mother remarked - nobody knows what to say.

I’m just calling her more often than before, she’s the one doing the talking. Throughout the whole thing I’ve just been close at hand, a bit of a lurker, so she can just turn and find someone there to assist - give someone a ride, show someone the bathroom etc. What’s been annoying is people telling her she needs to grieve.

People who’ve said they know/imagine just how she feels. No they don’t, but really it’s just that no one knows what to say.

A father of another child - a man she doesn’t know - told her he would cover any expenses she was unable to. The funeral home alone wants four months wages and although she’s had some very generous donations she was telling me she’ll be a few thousand under, but she can cover that, that she should pay something. I reminded her of the mans offer and pointed out that she’s paid enough however you look at it.

So my advice, just hover around - just be there.

#19

My friends sixteen year old died last Thursday. They were all jumping off a rock into the sea and he cracked heads with another boy, went under and drowned.

My friend, the mother remarked - nobody knows what to say.

I’m just calling her more often than before, she’s the one doing the talking. Throughout the whole thing I’ve just been close at hand, a bit of a lurker, so she can just turn and find someone there to assist - give someone a ride, show someone the bathroom etc. What’s been annoying is people telling her she needs to grieve.

People who’ve said they know/imagine just how she feels. No they don’t, but really it’s just that no one knows what to say.

A father of another child - a man she doesn’t know - told her he would cover any expenses she was unable to. The funeral home alone wants four months wages and although she’s had some very generous donations she was telling me she’ll be a few thousand under, but she can cover that, that she should pay something. I reminded her of the mans offer and pointed out that she’s paid enough however you look at it.

So my advice, just hover around - just be there.

#20

Update: I attended the funeral.

I did not get the chance to say anything to Danny. It was held in a church, and it was packed–standing room only. I went with a few friends from our amateur theatre group. It was a beautiful service–the deceased’s high-school friends were there as honorary pallbearers (in their soccer uniforms), and the deceased’s soccer jersey adorned the casket. Danny himself delivered the eulogy, and I do not know where he found the strength–but he did, and he had us all laughing.

Dear Danny. Dear Wendy.

I will be in touch with Danny soon. Ms Robyn, I will assure him that if there is anything that I can do, as a lawyer, I will. (And thank you for the idea!) And we all of the theatre company have decided that “beer and pizza nights” for Danny and Wendy after rehearsals are in order. If they want them, of course.

Not sure what else we can do, except be there when Danny and Wendy need us to talk, to rehearse, to sing, to dance. I will definitely be in Danny’s choir this coming Christmas (though I did encounter his choir’s pianist who suggested that after this, I might like to join in at other times of the year).

Thank you all for the advice.