For over 30 years, I was a pastor caring for people experiencing grief and loss.
But it wasn’t until Nancy, my wife of 40 years, died that I truly discovered what it really means to be cared for in those terrible seasons and how complicated it can sometimes be.
When men are in such horrific pain, we ourselves often don’t know what we need. And in our pain, we can easily be put off by well-meaning people who think they know what we need and then make uncomfortable attempts to help us.
So, while every grief journey is unique, I want to share what has helped (and not helped) me.
Become a Good Listener
In the early stages of my grief, the people I found most helpful were those who asked me good questions and encouraged me to share. These people didn’t pretend to know what I was going through or what I was feeling. They assumed nothing. They simply provided me with a safe space to be open and honest about all I was experiencing.
It was their curiosity and patient listening that I found most comforting.
The Psalms are a beautiful example of this. Many are the unfiltered thoughts and feelings of men in extreme pain (e.g., Psalm 69:1-3; Psalm 77:1-4, etc.). These verses show us that one of God’s ways of caring for men in grief is by simply listening to us and honoring the intensity of our emotions when our world is falling apart (e.g., Psalm 142:1-2).
This is also why the Psalms can sound irreverent at times (e.g., Psalm 77:7-9). But a man who is suffering often needs permission to be brutally honest. And it’s a relief to know that God can handle even our painful questions and accusations against Him (Psalm 13:1; Psalm 83:1).
Resist the Urge to Fix
Non-judgmental listening isn’t easy.
When I shared honestly about my feelings, some identified my problem as a lack of faith or inadequate theology. This was the curse of Job’s friends in his time of suffering (Job 15; Job 18; Job 22). They, too, couldn’t resist the urge to lecture.
But, like Job, these were some of the most unhelpful people in my life.
This isn’t to diminish the importance of good theology or sound doctrine. But timing is everything, and a man in extreme pain isn’t looking for a theology class. He needs compassion, not condemnation. His pain needs to be honored, not questioned. And again, the Psalms are a beautiful biblical example of this.
But there is another reason helpful listening is so hard.
It can feel so helpless to just “be present” with someone who is suffering, especially for men. Our instinct is to try to fix it. But the people in my life who were most helpful resisted that urge—because some pain is simply unfixable by human hands.
The most helpful listeners were even cautious about quoting too many Bible verses at me because that, too, can sometimes feel like a quick fix—something to avoid the pain and try to “make it all better.”
Speak Their Name
There is a common belief that naming the deceased or bringing them up in a conversation may intensify the pain of grief. Ironically, for me, it is the opposite.
It is those who never mention Nancy’s name who cause me the most pain.
Nancy is still very much alive in my memory, and I think about her all the time. When people don’t mention her name, it feels like she has already been forgotten or never even existed. And that hurts. I always appreciate it when others bring her into the room and acknowledge her life and the many ways she is still missed. That feels comforting to me.
Don’t Just Be Available—Show Up
When people are sincerely trying to be helpful, they have often said to me, “Call me if you need anything!”
But I have never once called, and not because I haven’t needed anything. In reality, grieving men often don’t know what they need, let alone have the energy or vulnerability to reach out and ask for it.
And so, the most caring people in my life are those who just showed up.
They dropped by the house with muffins, or they invited me out for dinner, or to go for a walk, or to join their family for a celebration. It was always their initiative. And I enjoyed doing fun things with them, too. Being with joyful people is a welcome relief from the intensity of my sadness and aloneness.
A note to men who are grieving:
Early in my grief, I made it a practice to never say “no” to an invitation. Even when I didn’t feel like it, I said yes. And in hindsight, I never regretted that. It’s easy to become withdrawn and isolated in grief, and so it became a healthy practice to receive every invitation with gratitude.
Embrace the Counterintuitive Journey
Grief isn’t logical. That’s why the second year of a grief journey is often harder than the first.
In the first year, even though it made no sense, I could imagine that Nancy would be back again, and all my grief would soon be over. It was also when the magnitude of my loss had yet to really sink in.
To my surprise, the second year has brought deeper pain and more intense loneliness. Thankfully, there are those who understand this and continue to reach out to me in caring ways.
But they are noticeably fewer than the first year.
So, for those who care, here’s a simple request: Don’t stop reaching out after year one. It may not make sense, but grief follows no logical timetable and can often get harder in certain seasons.
Caring for the brokenhearted is a godly ministry (Psalm 34:18). I have often been deeply comforted by those who have come alongside me in my sadness and loneliness. It is always worth reaching out with a tender heart.
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