Top Ten Things Not To Say to a Hurting Friend

Alphonse, my friend’s pet tarantula just died. I understand she adored the hairy bugger, even though I don’t know why. She’s cried for hours and refuses to leave her home. As a true Christian, I’ve baked my famous tofu-squash casserole and am headed across the street to console her. But what can I say to someone who is hurting as bad as she?

That’s a tough question, and inevitably people get it wrong. I’m determined not to, so I rehearsed the possibilities. I still haven’t figured out what will heal her (aside from my casserole), but I know what not to say.

10. “Well it’s just a…” I may not understand the depth of her attachment; the fact remains, she hurts. Whether it’s a pet, a problem at work, a parental or partner problem, it hurts her. I need to be sensitive.

9. “It’ll be okay.” On the surface this appears fine; people need hope. Too often, though, friends don’t validate the pain and imply what one feels isn’t important.

8. “You’re not the only one.” We’ve all experienced loss—many people suffer more than their share, yet that doesn’t mitigate our pain. It only adds guilt.

7. “Is there anything I can do?” Invariably, this question has no answer. The loved one is put on the spot to come up with something for you to help him or her with. Instead proffer suggestions such as: “Can I bring a casserole? My zucchini’s doing quite well.” “Mow your lawn?” “Vacuum your house?” Your friend will know what you are willing to offer.

6. “What is God teaching you through this?” With this we imply God intended this sorrow so we can correct our wrongs. It says our pain is not important, but simply a lesson. After healing, we may find comfort in how God used our pain to transform us. For now we need a balm not a lesson.

5. “It’s God’s will.” Is God out to get us? Rather than bringing the comfort of a loving Father, we show God to be distant, cold and hard.

4. “You’ll get over it.” Again, we imply the insignificance of our hurt. It states the obvious; most of us get over the hurts of life and grow from them. It doesn’t lessen the pain of the moment, though.

3. “It’s time to move on.” We don’t know how long someone needs to mend. In my hypothetical spider story, I’d be ready (and rejoicing) to get on with life. But not everyone’s like me—and many people are praising God for that fact.

2. “Just forget about it.” How does one forget about the thorn in the sole of her foot? It’s just as easy to forget fresh grief.

1. “I know what you’re going through.” None of us has our friend’s emotional make-up. Even if we suffered similar things, we in no way know exactly what our friend feels. We’re not him.

So as my tofu-squash cools, I decide what to say. “I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk?” When it’s time to take my leave of her, I will let her know I am praying for her, and I will be sure to lift her up every time I talk to the Father.

Death and Tomatoes

With the first of spring, my heart turns to tomatoes. I can start my seedlings, transplant them late spring and then, before the frost flies, eat all my system can handle. Except this year, just as they finally began to ripen, late blight hit them and all my tomatoes died. The thought of store-bought, cardboard ones depress me. The months of anticipation evaporated in one afternoon when Rich, my friend from the cooperative extension, confirmed my fears, told me the entire crop was lost, and I had to pull them out and toss them in the trash. None would ripen.

The loss of my favorite food pales in comparison to the loss of my good friend, Ramez. For several years we’d lost touch—our paths divulging. Gratefully, we re-connected before he died. He called me; we visited. Our friendship re-kindled so that we emailed and facebooked and chatted on the phone. Suddenly, he died. One day he fell, didn’t recover, went to the doctor, was sent to the hospital and God took him home. I thank the Lord that in His graciousness we had those last months.

Then this last week, an old friend died suddenly. She and I had attended church together years ago. I taught most of her kids, ran into her family around town and was close to many of her sisters-in-law. Lorraine had a stroke, and before anyone could do anything, she passed away.

As in my reconnection with Ramez, God graced her relationships. Lorraine saw her youngest child married just a few weeks before; her eldest daughter gave birth to her first child only days before Lorraine died, and Lorraine got to attend the birth in the delivery room. She planned to visit her sister in Florida. And of course, those plans won’t materialize.

God never promises us tomorrow. I think, as I sit in funerals, as those funerals now involve my peers and not a grand-parent, how much time do we have? Do we hold silly grudges and never see people whom once we loved? Do we keep silent when we should praise? Do we forget to tell those we love how cherished they are?

In all funerals, loved ones stand and speak beautiful words about the person they lost. It solaces the mourners, but I think I’d rather hear their thoughts today and know how they feel. A long time ago I vowed that no one I loved would die without know how I felt. I think I kept true to my promise.

My personal loss lately was a bunch of tomatoes. My mouth won’t fill with their acidic sweetness—and that frustrates me. I planned for my future, but it never materialized. How much more should we realize those we love can be gone without warning? Don’t save their tributes for their eulogies. Treasure them now and be sure they know.