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Dealing with the Loss of a Friend
If there is a family presence, it is not likely that you will be directly involved with your friend’s death - even though both of you might prefer to be close during this period of time. Many times a family doesn’t understand the nature of your relationship or know how close you have been for how long. Unfortunately friend loss is complicated and yet to be acknowledged by society. If your loss is acknowledged, you most likely will feel the need to inhibit your grief and support the family vs. ask for support yourself.
The loss of a friend can impact your life just as much or more than the loss of a full time partner. In fact your friendship may have been the highlight of both of your lives - a vessel within which you shared activities, honest conversations without judgment, and support through difficult times. In essence your relationship was a treasure, the loss of which you will mourn for the rest of your life
If you are having a difficult time, contact a grief and loss counselor for one-on-one sessions. Most hospice bereavement departments offer one-on-one sessions for anyone in the community. If there is no hospice counseling available, talk with clergy or a counselor who works with grief. In addition, consider doing something memorable such as planting a tree. There need not be a gathering. You are the only one that needs to honor the memories of a friendship too important to ignore. Suggested Reading:
Grieving the Death of a Friend
Below is a beautiful poem by Henry Van Dyke which is particularly appropriate to send to friends and family after they have lost a loved one. It is also an appropriate read during funerals and services.
The loss of a friend can impact your life just as much or more than the loss of a full time partner. In fact your friendship may have been the highlight of both of your lives - a vessel within which you shared activities, honest conversations without judgment, and support through difficult times. In essence your relationship was a treasure, the loss of which you will mourn for the rest of your life
If you are having a difficult time, contact a grief and loss counselor for one-on-one sessions. Most hospice bereavement departments offer one-on-one sessions for anyone in the community. If there is no hospice counseling available, talk with clergy or a counselor who works with grief. In addition, consider doing something memorable such as planting a tree. There need not be a gathering. You are the only one that needs to honor the memories of a friendship too important to ignore. Suggested Reading:
Grieving the Death of a Friend
Below is a beautiful poem by Henry Van Dyke which is particularly appropriate to send to friends and family after they have lost a loved one. It is also an appropriate read during funerals and services.
Gone from My Sight
I am standing upon the sea-shore.
A ship at my side spreads it white sails to the morning
breeze and starts for the blue ocean. It is an object
of beauty and strength, and I stand and watch it until
at length it hangs like a speck of white cloud just where
the sea and the sky come down to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says
"There! She's gone.”
Gone where? Gone from my sight—that is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was
when she left my side and just as able to bear her load
of living freight to her place of destination.
Her diminished size is in me—not in her; and just at the
moment when someone at my side says
"There she's gone,"
there are other eyes watching and other voices ready to
take up the glad shout.
"There she comes!"
I am standing upon the sea-shore.
A ship at my side spreads it white sails to the morning
breeze and starts for the blue ocean. It is an object
of beauty and strength, and I stand and watch it until
at length it hangs like a speck of white cloud just where
the sea and the sky come down to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says
"There! She's gone.”
Gone where? Gone from my sight—that is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was
when she left my side and just as able to bear her load
of living freight to her place of destination.
Her diminished size is in me—not in her; and just at the
moment when someone at my side says
"There she's gone,"
there are other eyes watching and other voices ready to
take up the glad shout.
"There she comes!"
Death and coping too
An old man’s wonderful answer to the question
“Someone I loved just died. I don't know what to do.”
This might just change the way you approach death…..and life as well.
“I’m old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, my mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can’t imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.
I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to “not matter”. I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if this scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.
As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with the wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you’ll find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further and further apart. You can see them coming: an anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas. You can see them coming and as time goes on, better prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side; soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.
Take it from an old man, the waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to stop, but you learn that you'll survive them. And then other waves will come and you'll survive them too.”
“Someone I loved just died. I don't know what to do.”
This might just change the way you approach death…..and life as well.
“I’m old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, my mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can’t imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.
I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to “not matter”. I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if this scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.
As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with the wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you’ll find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further and further apart. You can see them coming: an anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas. You can see them coming and as time goes on, better prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side; soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.
Take it from an old man, the waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to stop, but you learn that you'll survive them. And then other waves will come and you'll survive them too.”