An open letter to my friends

I came across a template "letter to my friends" in an email discussion forum for WAY members (Widowed And Young). Even though it was 31 months after Clare died when I read this, it still seemed very relevant for my friends to read, so I have personalised it slightly and here it is.

How you can help me

Please talk about my loved one, even though they are gone. It is more comforting to cry than to pretend that they never existed. I need to talk about them.

Be patient with my distress and agitation. Nothing feels secure in my world anymore. Get comfortable with my crying. Sadness hits me in waves, and I never know when my tears may flow. Just sit with me in silence and be my friend.

At times I will get upset or anxious at little things. Losing a bag, keys or a few missed phone calls may not seem something to panic over, but perhaps I will. Try to understand that at times I will overreact.

Don't leave me alone because you don't want to upset me, unless I ask to be alone. You can't protect me from my grief. If you don't know what to say, just come over, give me a hug, and say, "I'm sorry." You can even say "I just don't know what to say, but I care, and want you to know that".

Just because I look good at any particular moment, does not mean that I feel good at that moment - sometimes I am not strong, I'm just numb. Ask me how I feel only if you really have the time to find out, and really want to know.

I will not recover. This is not a cold or the flu. I'm not sick. I'm grieving and that's different. My grieving is an eratic process - don't think that I will be over it in a year. For I am not only grieving their death, but also the person I was when I was with them, the life that we shared and expected, the plans we had for watching our children and grandchildren grow, the places we will never get to go together, and the hopes and dreams that will never come true. My whole world has crumbled and I will never be the same.

I will not always be grieving as intensely, but I will never forget my loved one. Rather than recover, I want to incorporate their life and love into the rest of my life. They are a part of me and always will be, and sometimes I will remember them with joy and other times with a tear. Both are okay.

I don't have to accept their death. Yes, I have to understand that it has happened and it is real, but there are some things in life that are just not acceptable. I also do not accept that "they've gone to a better place", because I am an atheist and so I don't think there is anywhere for them to be now, other than in our memories.

When you tell me what I should be doing, then I feel even more lost and alone. I feel badly enough that my loved one is dead, so please don't make it worse by telling me I'm not doing this right.

Please don't tell me I will/could find someone else, or that I need to start dating again. I might not be ready to, and maybe I don't want to. People are not replacable. Any future person will be someone different, not a replacement.

"You've got to get on with your life." My life is continuing. It may not look the way you think it should. This will take time and I will never be my old self again, so just accept me as I am today, and know that with your support, the joy will slowly return to my life. But I will never forget and there will always be times that I cry.

I need to know that you care about me. I need to know you believe in me and in my ability to get through my grief in my own way, and in my own time.

Please don't say, "Call me if you need anything", as I might never call you because I have no idea what I need. Trying to figure out what you could do for me takes more energy than I have. So let me give you some ideas:

(a) Bring food or a movie over to watch together.

(b) Feel free to send me a card on special holidays, our anniversaries, their birthday and maybe the anniversary of their death. Be sure to mention their name. You can't make me cry - the tears are already there. It is fine to give me the opportunity to cry, because someone cares enough about me to reach out on the difficult days.

(c) Always ask me to join you for events. I may say no at first or even for a while, but please don't give up, because somewhere down the line I may be ready, and if you've given up then I really will be alone.

(d) Understand how difficult it is for me to be with couples, to walk into events alone, to go home alone, to feel out of place in the situations where I used to feel so comfortable.

Please don't judge me now, or think that I'm behaving strangely. Remember that I am grieving. I may even be in shock, afraid or in deep rage. I may even feel guilty. But above all, I hurt - experiencing a pain unlike any I've ever felt before and one that can't be imagined by anyone who hasn't experienced it.

Don't worry if you think I'm getting better and then suddenly I seem to slip backward. Grief makes me behave this way at times. And please don't tell me you know how I feel, or that it's time for me to get on with my life. What I need is time to grieve.

Most of all thank you for being my friend. Thank you for your patience, caring, helping and understanding.

And remember, if you ever need me as I have needed you, I will understand, be there for you and we'll shed some tears together.