Grief is no stranger to us in midlife. It starts to appear more often. It lurks around the corner of every life but is never a welcome visitor. We begin to understand that love, inevitably, makes us vulnerable to loss.
Grief Beside Grief
When there are no words
But I wasn’t prepared for what it felt like to stand beside my brother as he lost his wife, his person, his constant. The woman he’d built a life with, dreamt of retirement with, loved fiercely. It’s not my story. At the centre of that loss, I’ve witnessed grief in its raw state. Conscious that I felt at times an intruder, yet my presence was static. Essential at times, uncomfortable in its awkwardness. What do you say when there are no words?
Grief is like the ocean; it comes in waves, ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim.”
Vicki Harrison
But still; it has shaped me too.
She wasn’t just my sister-in-law. She was part of our family’s rhythm, her laugh folded into every gathering, her kindness woven into our daily lives. And when she died, so suddenly, tragically and unfairly, it cracked something open. Watching my brother grieve was like watching someone try to breathe underwater. I wanted to fix it. Of course I did. But grief doesn’t want fixing; it wants space.
And so, I stayed close. Not always with words. Often just sitting beside in silence. Making tea. Letting the tears fall. Witnessing the anger. The despair. The pain. I learnt quickly that the one person he would have turned to in his pain, was his partner. She was no longer there. That absence was a second grief all its own.
There is a strange balance when you are the one who is “grieving beside.” You feel everything, but quietly. You manage your own sorrow in the cracks between theirs. You keep going, for them. But still, it’s there. The ache. The missing. The bewilderment.
Some days I would imagine she was just away; on a trip somewhere. Most likely to imagine, a business trip. Business as usual. My mind did that for me, just to soften the edges. It helped, in those first few weeks, when the panic would start to rise.
You cannot ease grief with solace.
Watching my brother try to build a life again, without her, has been humbling. He didn’t ask for strength, but he found it. Not in big dramatic ways, but in the getting up each day, the remembering to eat, the courage to face Christmas without her. That, to me, is bravery.
I’ve tried to be useful. Helpful. Present. But I’ve also learnt to hold back. People mean well. Rushing in with advice, distractions, silver linings. Well meaning words of comfort fall foul, vaguely offensive. You want to scream “stop trying”. You cannot ease grief with solace. I’ve learnt that grief doesn’t want noise. It wants permission. It wants to be witnessed.
Sometimes I’ve been angry too. How unfair it all is. At the plans they made together that now amounted to hollow intentions. It’s a messy thing, grief. It doesn’t follow rules. Trying not to let feelings take up too much space. They’re mine to feel quietly, not to put on him.
“Empathy, patience and consistent prescence are a powerful reminder of shared humanity”
And yet, I’ve also seen that life creeps back in. Slowly, tentatively. In small, almost invisible ways. A smile. A story. A walk on a sunny day. It doesn’t mean the grief is gone. It just means that it has been learnt how to carry.
They say grief is like a heavy rucksack; it doesn’t get lighter, but you learn how to carry it better. I’ve seen that.
This journey has taught me the quiet art of accompaniment. To walk beside, without trying to lead. To offer a hand, without demanding a response. To grieve, but gently. Never louder than the person who has lost the most.
I carry her memory too. Just differently. And I carry my brother, as best I can. Not with answers, but with love.
Consistent, compassionate presence and willingness to listen without judgment
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- Be Present and Listen: The single most helpful action is often simply being there and providing a safe space for the grieving person to express whatever emotions arise, whether that is sadness, anger, or numbness. Avoid clichés or trying to offer silver linings.
- Offer Specific, Practical Help: Instead of saying “let me know if you need anything,” offer concrete assistance like bringing meals, running errands, or helping with childcare. Grieving individuals often struggle to ask for help or make decisions.
- Acknowledge and Remember the Deceased: Don’t be afraid to use the name of the person who died or share happy memories. This helps keep their memory alive and validates the significance of the loss.
- Continue Support Over Time: The immediate days after a death are busy, but the true loneliness often sets in weeks or months later when others have moved on. Your continued check-ins and support are crucial for the long term.
- Respect Their Process: Everyone grieves differently, and there is no “right” way or timeline. Encourage the person to be patient and compassionate with themselves, and let them lead the way in their healing journey.
- Take Care of Yourself, Too: Supporting someone through grief can be emotionally demanding. It’s important to recognize your own limits and seek support for yourself if needed.
Grief is a deeply personal journey with no set timeline, and the goal of support is not to make the pain disappear, but to help feel less alone in their experience.
