When I train on building trauma-informed workplaces, people often ask about appropriate responses to grief and loss. This article, adapted from Colin Campbell’s book, Finding the Words, has some great suggestions. (Campbell and his wife’s two teenage children, Ruby and Hart, were killed in a car accident.)
First, he notes, the phrase “there are no words” is both ubiquitous and unhelpful. It shuts down the conversation, when what is needed is a chance to process and connect.
In terms of what to say, he urges not to worry that you are going to trigger pain by talking about the tragedy or the person lost. That’s all that’s on their mind anyway. Not addressing it is strange. Allow grievers space to talk about the loss. If possible, talk about your own memories of the deceased. When I encounter someone who’s mourning a loss of someone I didn’t know, I often express my sorry at their loss, then ask, “What was he like?”
Importantly, don’t share your own grief story. You may think that builds a connection, but in fact, it pulls focus (is the griever now supposed to comfort you?) and your loss is never the same as theirs, even if the story seems similar (your loss of your brother at the same age to the same type of cancer will be different than theirs).
Campbell urged friends not to be afraid to cry in front of them, or to avoid laughter. This likely varies from person to person, so it’s probably best to tread lightly on these, or to ask the griever their feelings.
When Campbell’s wife returned to work, she gave a prepared speech at the first staff meeting, telling everyone about the crash and discussing what she needed. She said she’d appreciate any stories of Ruby and Hart, and asked people not to be afraid of her, to treat her normally. As she spoke, her colleagues nodded encouragement, and when she finished, they applauded. “She felt supported and loved,” Campbell concludes.
Our discomfort with pain often causes us to retreat from those grieving, precisely when they most need us. Campbell’s article gives us a better path.