I thought I knew everything there was to know about grief. After all, I’d faced some terrible losses by my early thirties. And yet my mom’s death really shook me. The grief and sense of loss was devastating and I found it incredibly hard to pull myself together that first year.

From my experience, I’ve learned that every loss is different and one loss doesn’t necessarily prepare you for the next. Unlike other life experiences, the more practice you have doesn’t make you any more competent at coping nor does it make it easier. Grief isn’t like any other life event. It doesn’t matter how many times you go through it; each time is unique and each loss leaves a different void in your life.

That’s just one good reason to never say to the bereaved, “I know how you feel.” Because you can’t possibly know how someone feels. Just because you lost a mother, a child, or a spouse, your loss is unique to you. None of us knows the personal history or relationship between the deceased and the bereaved and that unknown plays a big factor into the grieving process.

Each of us grieves in our own time and in our own way. And if you are to heal, you must fully mourn your loss. It’s hard to see someone in so much pain and I think that’s the reason many people shy away from the bereaved. But you can’t hurry someone through the mourning process. What you can do is be a friend. Stay the course, listen when they need to talk, and remain by their side. Isn’t that what you’ll want someone to do for you?

My grandma died at 97 and I was heartbroken. It was partially because she helped raise me and I adored her, but it was also unexpected.

“Unexpected?” you might say, and some people did. But she didn’t die at an age that was expected of her generation. She had outlived so many peers and younger relatives, I was sure she would live to be 100.

What difference should it make how old someone is when they die? Shouldn’t we extend to the bereaved the same sympathy and level of support, no matter how old or young the deceased?

In retrospect, I didn’t get much sympathy when my grandma died. One colleague said upon hearing of her death and her age, “Didn’t you expect her to die Robbie?”

Just because someone has lived a long life, does that mean the loss is any less painful? No matter how old someone is when they die, the bereaved deserve the same consideration you would extend to anyone who has lost a loved one. Age doesn’t diminish the pain of loss and the mourning process is still the same.

​Photo courtesy of author

Every Memorial Day, I look for red poppies; the crepe paper variety, sold by veterans. I usually find mine outside a grocery store. And I wear it all day.

The poppies evoke such a special time in my life that I usually find a visible place to display them long after the holiday. And when I see one around the house, it brings back vivid memories of my father and the Memorial Days we shared while I was a little girl.

My dad was a veteran of World War II and after his discharge was active in the local Veterans of Foreign War (VFW) post. Our local VFW sponsored our town’s Memorial Day parade. I never got to watch the parade; I got to participate in it.

Each year, my father drove a car with a veteran from World War I. It was a tribute for the veterans but also special for me; I got to ride in the back seat. Our small town put on quite a parade and I felt fortunate to be part of it.

After the parade, my father took me and my two siblings back to the VFW post. We’d play softball out back and there was always a cookout. I don’t know why, but my mom stayed home. This was a special opportunity for us three kids to have time with our dad; nowadays we would call it quality time. Years later, it was all the more poignant after his early death.

So every Memorial Day, and Veteran’s Day too, I search for the poppies. I love to share my story with the veterans I meet; and it’s important to support all the veterans who give so much for our country, even in this small way.

Those simple poppies make me feel a sense of patriotism along with a connection to my family roots. I get a little red flower to wear for the day while paying tribute to the veteran I knew best, my dad.


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 three individual volumes: "Illness & Death," "Suicide" and "Miscarriage." Additional titles are available as e-books: "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.

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Copyright www.Legacy.com  Used with permission

Adults have a lot to offer teens by way of experience, so we expect teens to learn from us. And yet there are times when adults can learn from them.

When a teenager dies, it’s often a teen’s first experience with death. Teens grieve for their peers differently than adults and some of their practices are healthy. Here’s what adults can learn from teens:

1.     Teens grieve in groups. They congregate together during the funeral and afterwards. They huddle together in circles and grieve in a communal manner. They frequently comfort each other by hugging.

2.    Teens grieve openly and don’t try to put on a face. They’re not embarrassed to cry.

3.    Teens are the memory keepers and they share their stories. No matter what the relationship, whether friend, classmate, intimate, or acquaintance, they will dredge up every contact, every shared experience, and reminisce.

4.    A teen funeral attracts hundreds of teens; everyone turns out even if they hardly knew the teen or the teen was an acquaintance.

5.    Teens can overwhelm the bereaved family, wanting to hang out at the teen’s home so they can comfort the family and feel close to the teen that has died.

6.    Teens use online forums, such as Facebook, to express their grief. Months and years later, they continue to post and share their feelings and memories.

So how can adults grieve more like teens? We adults can show our support for the bereaved and all turn out for the funeral, whether it’s a neighbor, colleague, congregational member, former teacher, or a community member. We can grieve more openly, not being afraid to shed our tears in front of others. We can look after each other, grieve in groups so we share our loss, and comfort each other so no one has to feel alone in their grief. We too can be memory keepers, searching for encounters and stories and sharing them with the bereaved family and our peers so we don’t forget. While we don’t want to overwhelm the bereaved family, we can visit, keep them company, listen, comfort them, and share their loss. We can use a forum (online or off) to express our grief, perhaps even notes, letters, and emails to the bereaved to let them know we remember their loved one and they’re not forgotten.

While teens will continue to learn from us, if we’re open to new perspectives, there’s a lot we adults can learn from them.

Copyright Legacy.com.  Used with permission,


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It’s just that time of year. While everyone is buying their perennials and planning outdoor fun, my friend Beth is caught in her annual slump. It is springtime; sunny with promise but, the calendar, not the weather, is her emotional barometer. She is getting ready to once again mourn the too-soon death of her beloved father. Despite the sunshine and flowers, springtime is 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.

I learned to be comfortable with the bereaved because at a young age, I was the bereaved. I witnessed firsthand how young friends, their parents, my neighbors, teachers, school officials, relatives, and family friends treated and interacted with me upon learning of my father's death.

And yet it was my mom who taught me how to comfort the bereaved. She connected by phone, cooked a meal, visited the bereaved, and continued to help long past when others ceased to call. It was her model that I emulate and used to teach my own children: death is a part of life and the bereaved need our support.

Not everyone feels at ease comforting the bereaved. And if you’re not comfortable, how will you teach your child to be comfortable?

One of the ways to instill compassion in your child is to work on a comforting activity together. This is how my neighbor Susan did it.

Susan and her best friend Abby were pregnant at the same time. Susan’s baby, Lisa, was healthy; Abby’s baby, Beth, wasn’t. Beth was born with a disfiguring congenital defect for which there was no cure or repair and her parents were told that she had only months to live.

Susan and her daughter spent a lot of time with Abby and Beth as well as Abby’s older daughter Sara. When Beth died at age two, she had lived much longer than expected. Susan was a gifted writer and she chose to write the story of Beth’s life. She wanted big sister Sara to know that despite Beth’s disfiguring illness, she was much loved and during her short time on earth, her life was meaningful and she made a difference.

While working on the project, Susan shared what she was doing with her daughter Lisa and Lisa colored the illustrations Susan had drawn. Together, Susan and Lisa presented the book to Abby and Sara. Abby has shared that during the five years since Beth’s death Sara continues to get comfort from the book. She shares it with new friends as it is a comfortable way to tell the story of Beth’s short life and death.

Since Beth’s death, Susan has used her writing talents on several occasions. She has written stories and poems for friends and loved ones who are bereaved. Now, Lisa offers to draw the illustrations. She’s learned firsthand from a compassionate mom how to be compassionate too.

​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 as 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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Copyright Legacy.com  Used with permission

A young woman chose to announce her mother’s death on her mom’s Facebook page. She had no other access to her mother’s wide circle of friends and she felt this was the best way to share details for her mother’s funeral. Facebook friends “shared” the funeral plans and the young woman was surprised and comforted at the large turnout at her mom’s funeral.

Whether you like it or not, Facebook has changed the way we interact, communicate, and share information. Much of our lives revolve around social media so it was inevitable that it now plays a major role in death.

Facebook has become integral in how we:

1. Announce a death. 
   While Facebook has not replaced obituaries, it has become a common source of death announcements. By its nature, Facebook communications target friends or acquaintances and through its sharing feature, spreads the word that there has been a death.
2. Communicate funeral information.
   Facebook facilitates communications of funerals, visitations, memorial services, and other mourning rituals. It’s easier to post the information once rather than sending numerous emails or making individual phone calls. Not only can you post this information on your Facebook or loved one’s Facebook page but, you can create a “memorial” event and invite your Facebook friends.
3. Find a place to grieve.
   Facebook allows you to memorialize a deceased member’s Facebook page. This feature creates a space to grieve both individually and collectively. A friend, whose nephew died far away, found his Facebook memorialized page comforting. She viewed the photos and read and re-read the stories about her nephew. She had a pool of fellow grievers who were keenly feeling the same loss.
4. Post condolences.
   When a death announcement appears on Facebook, friends feel an immediate urge to respond and post condolences. This may provide quick comfort to the bereaved but unfortunately, it dampens the initiative to write a sympathy note.  
5. Generate ongoing support.
   A memorialized page, or your own Facebook page, provides a place to share future birthdays and death anniversaries of your loved ones – a continuing opportunity for friends to express their condolences, memories, and share their photos. Facebook has lifted the taboo of mentioning deceased loved ones over a long period of time.

Facebook has made grief and loss a more open part of our culture. And that’s a good thing.

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In the aftermath of her daughter’s death, my friend Isabel’s memory is hazy. She recalls friends surrounding her: they called, sent flowers, prepared meals, made donations, and attended the memorial service. And then silence. In the ensuing weeks, it took all her energy to assume fragments of her routine. Isabel said she exhausted her reserve and could not muster the energy to reach out. Her husband, while shouldering shared responsibilities, felt depleted as well. As Isabel began to comprehend the enormity of her loss, she felt alone.

Isabel has plenty of company as other bereaved parents share similar stories. Most report an overwhelming wave of support during the initial period when the newly bereaved are protected by shock and can barely register their loss. When the numbness wears off and it is time to mourn, friends are sparse. The bereaved might find it hard to find others to share their grief and this is the time when loneliness sets in.  

While many bereaved face the same dilemma, it can be particularly acute for bereaved parents. The death of a child is particularly tragic. It is unexpected and shocking, totally out of the natural order of things.  

Bereaved parents lament not just the disappearance of old friends, but the pain of losing them. They don’t understand why some friends can’t stand beside them in their hour of need. One bereaved parent explains it best: "Some people don't want to feel what we're feeling."

This comment hit home as it happened to me. In one particularly painful exchange, a colleague’s husband told us he had a meeting scheduled the morning of our daughter’s funeral. He could have rescheduled, but was so uncomfortable with the idea of going to a baby’s funeral that he chose not to attend.  

While I, too, lost friends after my children’s deaths, there were friends who stayed the course and embraced the wisdom of Irish statesman Edmund Burke: "The true way to mourn the dead is to take care of the living who belong to them." The friend you thought would be there may not, but someone else you never expected might step into their place. Embrace them and as gracefully as you can, let the others go. The changing nature of friendship is another facet of the mourning cycle.

We’re all familiar with the five stages of grief and we have come to expect that at some point following a death we might feel denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and ultimately, acceptance. So it may be surprising to learn that other feeling might appear that can be downright unexpected and uncomfortable.

1. Relief
   If you have faced relentless worry and anxiety over a family member’s health, illness, treatment, or decline, it may startle you to experience a sense of relief. The relief will be replaced with grief, but for a brief time you may feel free of worry. 
2. Emptiness
   Where once there was a spouse, parent, grandparent, child, colleague, or friend, there is now a void. The role the deceased played in your life is now empty. While we mourn our loss, we may wonder if anyone can ever fill that space.
3. Helplessness
   Most of us rely on someone else to perform a variety of roles in our life. Without that someone we may feel helpless. Who will drive at night, do the taxes, install or fix the technology, do the laundry, or cook. While it might take time, many people are surprised when they rise to the occasion and find they can navigate life by themselves.
4. Fear
   When someone dies there is a fear, “If it happened to them, it can happen to me.” If a family member died at a certain age or from a specific illness it is normal to wonder if we too are in jeopardy when reaching that age.
5. Loneliness
   Loss is lonely. Grief is a solitary experience and because of our intense emotions while we mourn, it can be hard for others to have the patience to stand by and support us. After the initial outpouring of condolences, the phone and even email may become silent.
6. Lost
   When we have a history and have shared a facet of our life with someone it is easy to feel lost without them. No matter what role the deceased played in our life, whether friend, relative, colleague, or neighbor, we are now missing a partner for whom we had a common experience.
7. Disconnected
   If you have lost a parent, grandparent, sibling, or child you might feel disconnected. Family bonds to your heritage may feel severed. If you have lost an older relative it might be up to you to assume the elder family role and this can feel overwhelming and daunting.
8. Responsible
   The death of a loved one can bring so much sorrow. As you see others struggle and possibly falter, you may feel responsible for helping others grieve and this can interfere with your own grief. 

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