Death Etiquette for the Socially Awkward

My Aunt Carol was an organ donor and when her body started to surrender, her husband Tom made that difficult decision to let her go. He nobly stood bedside for days after she collapsed from a heart attack while they were preparing for a golf tournament. It was too much for him, however, to watch her fade those final minutes. My stronger than grit, Aunt Bootsie and my Mom led the charge and I followed timidly behind as we decided to watch her take her final breath. The three of us were suited head to toe in surgical protective covering and entered locked doorways to the dark hallway leading to surgery. There she was, my saucy Aunt Carol, heart beating artificially, laid out and strapped in crucifix position. The room was chilly, I suppose to help preserve the organs as they are removed. Bootsie whispered comforting words in her ear and Mom and I stroked her hair. She would have been mortified that it was undone. I was taken aback by a single tear that slowly streamed from her eye...I pointed it out to Mom as she silently nodded. To this day, I'm not sure if it was Carol or just the surge of fluids they coursed throughout her body to aide in the removal. I like to think it was Carol's last gift. I suddenly was overcome by the situation and the frigid room did nothing for my rising temperature. The room became uncomfortably small and peering eyes from the waiting doctors were more than I could bear. I had to escape to the hallway...back sliding down the cool walls, I struggled to regulate my breathing. A few minutes later, Bootsie and Mom joined me and I knew she was gone.

I was undone. Not just the loss of my dearest Aunt, but the experience itself was overwhelming. I had never escorted someone out of this world. I will never forget the sympathy card I received a few short days later from a socially clueless neighbor. It basically read 'stop your belly-aching'. I'm paraphrasing, but the sentiment was clear. And it made me realize that not everyone knew how to deal, relate, or reach out to those experiencing death. It's clearly not enjoyable being the mourner, but for some, it's equally uneasy being the comforter. For those that find comforting, well, uncomfortable, I'm happy to provide some guidance. Let's start simply as to not overwhelm.

1. Just be there. Make sure they are breathing. You don't have to create some grand gesture, some profound provision. Just be still beside them and let them know you are there. A hug or holding a hand can comfort an aching soul. Instead of comforting my Aunt Gail when her husband Bill passed, certain friends completely avoided her. Telling her much later that they just didn't know what to say. I think she was more upset by their absence the full year post loss than by any words that may have been clumsily spoken.
2. Send a card. Heck, write a letter on a napkin if the Sympathy card section at Walmart is too overwhelming for you. So many choices, too many sad sentiments, should you get a religious card or a more vanilla version? Ultimately, it doesn't matter. Just don't sign it 'quit your belly-aching'. Stick to something more appropriate such as 'I'm sorry for your loss' or 'You are in my thoughts'.
3. Feeling ambitious? Provide a meal. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, or snacks are all perfect as the mourning need to eat all times of the day. If they aren't up to eating, they often have family members that need to maintain their energy. Chicken Noodle soup is the best soul comforting food I know. Local shops make it from scratch and it's divine...skip the stove and swing by Browns or Saubels. Throw in some crackers and cookies and you've got yourself some love in a basket. Tip for the mourners: Be grateful. Even if you don't eat spinach in your lasagna, say thank you.
4. Help them remember good memories. Ok, so this tip may be off limits to the socially oblivious. But for those of you that know the power of intentionally spoken words, asking a few well placed questions can lift spirits. Have them recall a favorite moment, a funny story...let them share the legacy of memory with you. Then truly listen.