It's a new decade and we all might wonder: What role do manners and civility play in our current culture? What if any standards do we uphold? We now live in a world where truly anything goes and that extends to appearance.

Knowing this, I’m still surprised at some of the things people wear. It was freezing last night and yet young children were wearing shorts and sandals at the mall. It's common to see jeans and sweatshirts at church and synagogue, shorts at a fine restaurant on a Saturday night, and flip flops for all occasions. But when it comes to funerals, most of us sense that there are some rules of protocol that should be followed.

A friend recently shared that she attended a funeral and was surprised that a teenage family member wore casual clothing and flip flops. I was shocked  myself when attending a funeral at Arlington National Cemetery to see the thirty-year old daughter of the deceased wearing a red low-cut dress that showed her cleavage. So it’s no wonder that those of us attending funerals might think, what should we wear? 

It's possible the bereaved family might set the tone for dress. A friends's mother died of breast cancer and they asked all funeral attendees to wear pink. If there are no directives from the family, it’s safe to err on the conservative side and avoid bright colors, bright prints, and anything flashy or glittery. Stay away from the casual and opt for something on the dressier side. You don’t have to stick to black but choose darker or muted colors, such as, grays, dark blues, or browns. Women can wear pants, skirts, blouses, jackets, sweaters, or dresses, opting for a pulled together look. No sneakers, flip flops or too casual shoes. Men can wear slacks, sport jackets, or suits, and appropriate footwear. The look you want is non obtrusive.

Funerals are not a time to be conspicuous; it’s a time to blend in with the other mourners.

Robbie Miller Kaplan is an author who writes from a unique perspective as a mother who has lost two children. She has written How to Say It When You Don't Know What to Say, a guide to help readers communicate effectively when those they care about experience loss, now at a reduced price for e-books for "Illness & Death," "Suicide," "Miscarriage," "Death of a Child," "Death of a Stillborn or Newborn Baby," "Pet Loss," "Caregiver Responsibilities," "Divorce" and "Job Loss." All titles are in Amazon's Kindle Store.
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For whatever reason, you never got around to writing that sympathy note. Maybe you are pressed for time or it felt too hard. Now it is weeks and months later and you wonder, "How late is too late when it comes to writing a message of condolence?" As one widow shares, “It's never too late. It's not as if we finish grieving and ‘forget’ that our loved one died.” A loved one’s death is always in the hearts and minds of the bereaved.

Here are some tips on belated condolence notes:

• Whether you just learned of a death or procrastinated for months, don’t be afraid to reach out.
• Begin your sympathy message with an expression of how you are feeling. For example: “I just wanted you to know that Susan is often in my thoughts and I remember her with love, as I know you do."
• Follow with additional thoughts, a personal story or memory of the deceased, and your expression of sympathy.
• The bereaved will be grieving for a long time and your thoughtfulness and care will help in the healing process.

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Robbie Miller Kaplan is an author who writes from a unique perspective as a mother who has lost two children. She has written How to Say It When You Don't Know What to Say, a guide to help readers communicate effectively when those they care about experience loss, now at a reduced price for e-books for "Illness & Death," "Suicide," "Miscarriage," "Death of a Child," "Death of a Stillborn or Newborn Baby," "Pet Loss," "Caregiver Responsibilities," "Divorce" and "Job Loss." All titles are in Amazon's Kindle Store.
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The words sympathy and empathy are often thought to be the same, and yet they are distinct expressions.

In times of death, we often extend sympathy by sharing our sorrow for what’s happened. Sympathy cards are often synonymous with condolence messages. When offering sympathy, we’re expressing concern for another’s feelings. Sympathy cards, condolence notes, phone calls, e-mails, meals, and offers of assistance are all expressions of sympathy.

But you don’t offer empathy, you feel it. Empathy is the act of putting yourself in someone else’s shoes. It’s trying to imagine: “How would I feel if this happened to me?” And it’s the ability to act on those feelings. When being empathetic, we extend our concern by offering compassion so the bereaved feel validated; that someone has a sense of what has happened and how they might be feeling.

I think it’s easier to extend sympathy. We all know to attend the funeral, participate in mourning rituals, send a condolence card, make a donation, and keep in touch. Empathy is harder; it’s taking the time to think carefully while trying to understand how you might feel if this happened to you and what might bring you comfort.

Listening is a good example of empathy and we all know how difficult it is to simply pay close attention to what is being said, without adding our personal feelings or thoughts. It takes patience to hear the same story over and over again, but it is an empathetic and meaningful thing to do.

When I think back to some of the stories that the bereaved have shared, it’s easy to discern the differences. One mother wrote that at her child’s funeral, she sat all by herself with her surviving child; everyone else, including her ex-husband, sat behind her. If someone had taken a seat next to her, that would have been empathetic. A grieving daughter shared that she had to make the arrangements for her father’s funeral and reception by herself. Relatives weren’t happy with her choices and complained to her at a time of painful loss. Empathetic folks would have helped; those that couldn’t help would have accepted what she was capable of doing and extended comfort.

We’ll all experience loss: Would you prefer someone extend you sympathy or empathy?

It’s just that time of year. While everyone is buying their holiday presents, decorating their homes, and planning holiday parties, my friend Beth is caught in her annual slump. It is winter; it might be chilly outside with a hint of snow in the forecast, but Beth has her own emotional barometer. She is getting ready to once again mourn the too-soon death of her beloved father. Despite the abundance of cheer, the winter holidays are always a season of sadness for Beth. It's not just my friend or the time of year, many of us have a season of grief when the death anniversary and birthday of our loved one comes along. So how do we cope?

I have learned that there is no right or wrong way to work through it. Grief is so personal and it’s influenced by our experience and relationships.

As the years pass, you may handle these periods differently. Sometimes keeping busy, not just with work, but with an active social life can help. A focus on being productive so you don't succumb to sadness may give a sense that at least you are moving forward. Often, just living in the present and keeping an eye on the future helps.

I have my seasons, too. No matter how sad, it is essential for me to acknowledge my loved ones. I think of them on their birthdays, feeling my love for them and the gratitude that they were a part of my life. I light a candle for each of them on the anniversary of their death. The candle burns for twenty-four hours and as I move through my day, I glimpse the flame as I pass and it reminds me how their spirit continues to live on within me.

What I have found empowering is the knowledge that while I can’t change what has happened to me, I can control how I manage the experience. I can avoid it by burying myself or getting out of town. Or, I can acknowledge it and allow myself to recognize the gifts that were mine, no matter how fleeting. All of us have that power.

​Robbie Miller Kaplan is an author who writes from a unique perspective as a mother who has lost two children. She has written How to Say It When You Don't Know What to Say, a guide to help readers communicate effectively when those they care about experience loss, now available in nine e-books: Illness & Death, Suicide, Miscarriage, Death of a Child, Death of a Stillborn or Newborn Baby, Pet Loss, Caregiver Responsibilities, Divorce, and Job Loss. All titles are in Amazon's Kindle Store. Click here to order.

While feeling sad after a loved one's death is a natural phase of the grieving process, some people find that first and second year too raw to participate in the holidays. Family and friends might help buffer those first celebrations, but if you’re all by yourself or feeling alone, you may be more comfortable seeking help.

Local hospices, hospitals, funeral homes, and  bereavement support groups offer workshops on getting through the holidays, often held from Thanksgiving through New Year’s. Conduct an online search and enter "grief support during the holidays" and you'll be prompted with an array of options. Try the "near me" or access any of the other results. If you come up empty do a search for local hospices and call them directly. There are numerous options for online support groups as well. Enter "online bereavement support groups" and check out the listings to find a group you're comfortable with.

Many people find grief support particularly helpful during the holiday season. It’s comforting to know you’re not alone.

​Robbie Miller Kaplan is an author who writes from a unique perspective as a mother who has lost two children. She has written How to Say It When You Don't Know What to Say, a guide to help readers communicate effectively when those they care about experience loss, now available in nine e-books: Illness & Death, Suicide, Miscarriage, Death of a Child, Death of a Stillborn or Newborn Baby, Pet Loss, Caregiver Responsibilities, Divorce, and Job Loss. All titles are in Amazon's Kindle Store. Click here to order.

​So many of our holiday traditions are family-centered, making it painful to face the holidays after a loved one dies. Despite the pain, some people find it comforting to continue the old traditions that they've enjoyed. Since grief in itself is exhausting, it can be too overwhelming to try and build new traditions when mourning a loved one.

How you choose to handle holidays is a highly personal decision. In the first few months or years, you alone know whether it's comfortable or painful to bake the cookies, make that signature dinner, or hold the annual picnic. As time passes, you may find that life in itself has changed and it feels more comfortable to modify or integrate some new and different traditions.

One friend is widowed and lives with her widowed mom. Their holiday celebrations are much smaller now that it’s just the two of them. Rather than cooking a holiday meal, they usually have dinner with friends or go out to eat. An enormous fresh tree was central to their Christmas celebration, but my friend finds it's too difficult to handle alone, so they have a small artificial tree. But they keep the tradition of the Christmas lights, hiring a handyman to put them up.

Another friend was widowed when his two children were teens. He found it helpful that first year to ask his children, "How do you want to do this holiday?" There were holiday traditions that they kept intact because it was just natural to do things they enjoyed. When one child left for college the following year and the family of four became a family of two, life and holidays changed. But the changes felt like a more natural transition. Six years after his wife's death, my friend integrates some of the old traditions into his holidays, just because it feels comfortable.
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Memories may be your best guide to the holidays. Determine what makes you feel good and what makes you feel uncomfortable. But there's a difference between being uncomfortable and being sad. As one friend says, "Some people are so concerned about feeling sad. It's okay to feel sad; you've just lost your loved one."

Robbie Miller Kaplan is an author who writes from a unique perspective as a mother who has lost two children. She has written How to Say It When You Don't Know What to Say, a guide to help readers communicate effectively when those they care about experience loss, now available in nine e-books: Illness & Death, Suicide, Miscarriage, Death of a Child, Death of a Stillborn or Newborn Baby, Pet Loss, Caregiver Responsibilities, Divorce, and Job Loss. All titles are in Amazon's Kindle Store. Click here to order.

It’s difficult to witness the physical and mental decline of a friend or loved one with a debilitating illness. In fact, it’s hard not to grieve while they are still alive, as responsibilities and relationships shift and lives change. Some might think that death would be a relief and grief shortened, but that’s not often the case.

My mother declined over a period of 18 months, and during that time, our roles steadily reversed. I loved her dearly, relying on her strength, and I grieved for her as she retreated from my life. Following surgery, she bravely and with great determination fought her way to recovery and amazingly flew by herself first west and then north for family visits. She died just three months after her visit with me.

The morning after her funeral, my first emotion was relief: I would no longer have to worry. No more frequent phone calls or arguments as I pleaded with her to forgo habits and activities that put her at risk. That relief quickly mushroomed into overwhelming grief, and it would take me time to learn how to live without her.

One friend had a different experience. She shadowed her parents during the year her father bravely fought cancer and again the following year when her mother’s cancer spread. By the second funeral,  she felt numb. Surely she grieved in those early days as she and her siblings settled the family estate, but she shared that she had done most of her grieving while her parents were still alive.

Another friend’s mother had dementia, and it robbed her of seven years of her life. Her mom’s decline was excruciating to watch. While driving her mom to the doctor one day, my friend’s mother asked, “Are you my mother or my daughter?” My friend lost control of the car and hit a parked car. After that incident, my friend prayed that her mom would pass away and find some peace. When the day finally came and her mother died, my friend was inconsolable. She grieved deeply until her own death, just eighteen months later.

Grief is such a personal experience. We all grieve differently based on our personalities, relationship with the deceased, life experiences, and probably a host of other factors. And we grieve in our own time. Just because we have a warning that a loved one will die doesn’t mean we are prepared for the loss. No matter the relationship or the age, few people are ready to say goodbye. Each of us needs the time, space, and extended support to heal and, hopefully, find peace. 

Photo: Magdalena Roeseler via photopin

​Copyright Legacy.com Used with permission

The death of a loved one brings significant change. We are no longer a spouse, parent, sibling, child, or friend. Life is completely thrown off course and every aspect of it is altered, including our social order, financial circumstances, and relationships. We view the world through a different lens and as we mourn our loved one, our perspective shifts.

Grieving a loss is like finding yourself caught in an emotional tsunami; everything seems out of control, with no notion of how to reign things in. It can feel as if you’re stumbling in the dark, searching for a calm port in a raging storm.

As the days turn into weeks, and the weeks become months, most of us begin to get a grip on things and start to find our footing. We realize we are adjusting and slowly reenter the world. But as we pick up the threads of our lives, we find one change that is difficult to absorb: Without our knowledge or consent, we have changed.

One bereaved spouse shares: “I miss the old me.” You might also be missing the mother, daughter, sibling, or friend you used to be. But maybe what you are pining for isn’t the old you, but the sheltered you. The you that did not know such pain existed; the you who did not know what it would feel like to be left fatherless, motherless, parent-less, sibling-less, spouse-less, or childless.

While we continue to mourn our loss, it becomes evident that life changes are inevitable. While moving through our grief we begin to see the possibility of positive outcomes. Coming face to face with life’s fragilities helps us focus on our priorities, recognizing what’s truly important. And while we might have lost the ability to see the world through rose-colored glasses, we have gained greater empathy for others facing loss.

You may be surprised to see that a new “me” emerges from your grief. The new me is just a different version of the old me, one that feels older and wiser. It will take time to adjust to the new me. Once you do, you’ll be in a place to make better decisions to move you forward. 

Photo: blavandmaster Out of the blue via photopin

copyright Legacy.com  Used with permission