@LSLGuy, I’m sorry for your loss. I know, I know it’s weird. But you do feel the loss of this person. In a way. Secondary or something.
It’s still a loss.
I’m, at this time dealing with death as a bystander. I know it’s hard but keep acknowledging. People who’ve lost loved ones need to hear it. If all you can say is “I’m sorry” that’s enough.
You’re a good guy to feel for your service provider like this.
Thank you for this. By best childhood friend died a year ago, at around age 50. I will write a letter to his mother today.
I’m not the guy with the loss; at least not recently.
My point was that we’ve all had relatives, friends, acquaintances, and neighbors die. And dealt with the weird place that leaves us socially depending on how much we’re the bereaved or the friend of the bereaved or the neighbor of the bereaved.
I understand.
But it’s a thing.
A few years ago a nurse who I had seen every week for a year or so lost her Mother.
I’ve dealt with parental loss and knew how she felt. Or so I thought. I brought it up and she just fell apart and wept and wept. I just sat there and just said …“it’s okay, it’s okay” til she stopped.
Later when she was leaving the practice she hugged me and told me how she appreciated me just letting her weep and not spouting platitudes.
You just never know how people vwill respond.
That’s great! She will love you for it. Tell her the fun memories you have of her son. Tell her some stories of the things you used to do together. I love to hear about the great times my son had with his friends.
And so it goes.
Today I carried two in-law-related couples who were close friends of a long time pilot pal of mine. They were rushing home from a Caribbean vacation that had just started the day prior. Why the rush? Their high school aged son who had stayed at home minding the house and younger kids had been killed yesterday.
It was just a coincidence I happened to be working their flight home. But my pal called me and asked me to assist, which of course I did as best I could.
We took excellent care of them, rolled out our reddest carpet. But all we could do or say was the tiniest thing compared to the shell-shocked grief on their faces. Still, what kindness we had for the few hours we had them was worth a lot; at least in the moment.
Hug your family often; you never know which hug will be the last.
Good ideas. I certainly will.