According to June, our “neighborhood chaplain”
Earlier today I was placing an order in Starbucks when I heard my name called from across the room. I turned around to find a young man in shorts and t-shirt, large square-framed glasses beneath the flattened brim of a Miller Light golf hat, looking up from his computer at me. It was an old friend, Adrian, I realized. Then I smiled. I hadn’t seen Adrian in almost a year or so. He was smiling, too.
I squared up at the register and walked over to him. Our conversation was one of those that tried to cover a whole lot more ground than time allowed. He told me he will be graduating college soon. He was also pleased to report that he already has an internship lined up with a pharmaceutical company over the summer. That’s a good industry, I replied. Maybe “good” wasn’t the best descriptor there, but no matter.
Before having to run off, I asked him one last question about a mutual friend of ours. Adrian said the friend wasn’t living in town anymore, but that he’ll be coming up in a couple of weeks. He paused for the slightest bit of a second, almost unnoticeable, before adding, “He’ll be here for a paddle-out we’re doing for my mom.” (A paddle-out, for those new to the term, is a traditional surfing ceremony done in honor of someone who has died.) Adrian wanted to tell me, earlier in the conversation, that his mom had died. Just two months ago. What do we do when a neighbor is grieving?
Let’s Ask June
I don’t know anyone in my life better able to help answer this question than my friend and mentor, June. June is a neighbor’s neighbor. She’s lived in the same house for over 35 years now and is widely known as something akin to the neighborhood chaplain. Somewhat uncannily, I had already been talking with June about writing a piece on grief before my encounter in Starbucks today. I wanted to know how she does what she does. Below you’ll find a few questions I asked her during our conversation, followed by the answers she gave me.
1) How do you typically find out when a neighbor is grieving?
I most often learn when neighbors have greeted me while I’m on a walk, when we’ve gathered for a meeting or book club in one of our homes, or when I get a phone call. We have worked for years to build friendships in our neighborhood, and these develop a level of trust. Without trust, it’s hard for people to share sorrows… and yet, when shared, they bond us deeper in friendship.
2) How do you think grief works? What, from your experience, are our neighbors typically looking for most when they’re grieving?
Grief can remain hidden. But we can come to recognize signs of hidden grief… sadness, silence, lack of energy, moving toward isolation. People are looking most frequently for quiet presence. Quiet presence asks and listens patiently. When a loss is raised—be it a death or terminal diagnosis, divorce, etc.—I invite them with, “Tell me about it if you wish.” Or, “Sit here with me in silence if you wish.” In our hurried, instant world, I encourage a friend to walk slowly and not hurry as they walk with grief.
3) What kinds of gestures, practically speaking, have you found to be well-received by grieving neighbors? Anything creative or out-of-the-box you’ve tried?
Physical touch—a hand, a shoulder, a hug. Kleenex offered and tears welcomed—sharing some of my own as well. Listening to memories. Listening to fears and worries. Praying with and blessing them. Delivering a meal, or a bouquet of flowers. Writing something special. Organizing an encouragement party. Organizing a memorial with candles lit and memories shared. Setting up a weekly walk or coffee. Cleaning a bathroom or other part of a home most in need of help. Buying new bedding if a spouse has been lost. Taking someone shopping for clothes that are needed for a memorial service.
The thing that strikes me about June’s answers to my questions is how uncomplicated they are.
- Grief shared requires trust.
- Grief shared desires quiet presence.
- Grief shared leads us into the deeper sorts of connections that all of us long for.
So why do we shy away from asking what I call “the second question”—the one that comes after someone shares they’ve just been through something painful? Why do we shy away from doing something that will lift their burden? Why do I shy away from these things? Maybe it’s because I’m busy; but beneath that, I think it’s because I’m scared. I’m scared that my response won’t be enough, or that it will feel invasive, and therefore it will not “fix” what they’re going through.
Your Neighbor Doesn’t Need You to Fix Their Grief
June’s gracious responses point to a different target, though. Your grieving neighbor doesn’t need you to fix their grief. They need you to accompany them in it. What’s required of me and of you is not a refined set of therapeutic skills. It is courage.
I should have stayed at Starbucks a little longer today and asked Adrian to share more if he felt like it. But I didn’t. Next time I see him, I want to be a little more courageous. Fortunately, I have his number and I’m taking this as my sign to text him. What will you do for your neighbor in grief? How might you share your quiet presence? You’ve got a pretty good list to get you started. Please, show some courage of your own. They need you.
Read other posts by DJ Johnsen:
3 Things Trees Teach Us About Neighboring
The Time My Friends and I Threw a Party for No “Good” Reason (Any why you should, too)
From Volunteerism to Accompaniment: How to Love Your Unhoused Neighbor
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