Content Warning: death, grief.

For multiply marginalized people, dealing with death in our communities due to institutional violence, mental health crises, war, and chronic/terminal illness is just a reality of our lives. For me, creating grief ceremonies and offering spiritual counsel to the bereaved is part of my healing justice practice. On top of that, I’ve been thinking of support work regarding death due to recent events in one of the communities I’m a part of, which has inspired me to write this post for those who are blessedly unfamiliar with grief on the daily.

When my partner, Steve Sauve, died nearly ten years ago, folks had no idea how to manage me. For those who don’t know me personally, I was an extreme kind of character in my late teens and early twenties, and becoming a widower-type person pushed me over the edge. I quit my job, I moved out of my apartment, I rushed into one-night stands yet quit drinking altogether. I covered all my mirrors in black cloth. I went to support groups. I started my own business but couldn’t make enough to pay the bills. I isolated myself and moved in with an ex, then tried to burn down my social and spiritual life by dating people that were not actually compatible with me. I vacillated between putting myself in harm’s way and trying to be the kind of person that would make life worth living now that he was gone. 

I needed support. There were some folks that stepped up, and others that I just wanted to punch in the face so I could shut them up. Folks judged you if you mourned “too long”, folks judged you if you didn’t mourn “enough”. Looking back on it all, while also adding my experiences of supporting other people who have lost parents, children, best friends, and partners, I’d like to present to you some hard-won suggestions if you’re the type who wants to give support to somebody close to you but are afraid you’ll mess up.

1) Grief takes energy.

Before even offering support, I want you to remember this. I know that it’s common in Western society to say “everybody grieves in their own way”, and I’m not disputing that there’s some truth in that. However, I firmly believe that all grief does take energy to process. Now, some people are also enraged as hell, like I was, and that gave me energy to move out of my bachelor apartment, start a business, throw myself into problematic rebounds– all in an attempt to avoid the actual grieving that I hated to feel so much, because it sapped me completely.

When I grieved, I could barely move. I could barely eat. I could barely think, or speak. Mostly I would cry. From the outside, you might see me and think “wow, this person hasn’t moved from their bed in days, they must feel so rested”. I wasn’t– I was exhausted, because to emotionally process all the time I spent with Steve and all the dreams we would never have now that he was gone felt like a marathon every day. Because of this, I needed help getting food, making food, going outside, cleaning my apartment, being reminded to do basic hygiene, and anything else that able-bodied, neurotypical, non-grieving folks would take for granted.

2) Check yourself. How are you actually doing?

Is the loss of your loved one or friend also your loss? Are you trying to avoid asking for help by offering help? Do you think by “saving” them you can save yourself? Get real with yourself. I’ve done this and I’ll probably do this again, it’s a thing I always have to check on. Some signs that you may be trying to “rescue” is that your own support network notices you’ve been acting off, that you don’t have energy to do what you regularly do, or you’re doing “risky” behaviours that aren’t like you.

Since I brought up support networks, make sure that you have one– whether it’s a close friend that’s not part of the immediate circle of mourners, or a counselor. If you’re going to go into support mode, make sure that if things get intense for you, you have a place of refuge to recharge. I hated feeling like a burden to the people close to me, and if I had found out a friend suffered a breakdown trying to give me support, that would have worsened my grief and pain.

One resource that you should have emotionally is patience. If you don’t have that going into this, I’d really suggest you not offer any support. I seriously tested folks’ patience, refusing help when I looked like I needed it, lashing out when I shouldn’t have, and indulging in exasperating behaviours. While you should clearly enforce and protect your own boundaries, also be aware that it’s not personal– rage and grief sometimes are colliding in people’s bodies and they shoot out or clamp down in ways most won’t expect, and that requires a lot of patience to manage if you’re a support person.