By Meghan Fitzpatrick, Hospice & Palliative Care Representative
Old Colony Hospice & Palliative Care
There is something uniquely painful about watching someone you love grieve.
When someone we love is hurting, every instinct tells us to fix it. We search for the right words. We offer advice. We try to distract them, cheer them up, or remind them of all the reasons they will be OK. We do these things because we love them, but grief has a way of making all of our usual ways of helping feel strangely inadequate.
One of the hardest lessons I have learned is that grief is not a problem to solve. It is an experience to survive.
When someone is grieving, they are living in a world that no longer makes sense. The future they imagined has changed without their permission. They are trying to figure out who they are in a life that suddenly looks different. No amount of encouragement can speed that process along.
That realization can leave those of us standing beside them feeling helpless.
The truth is, loving someone through grief requires a different kind of strength. It asks us to tolerate our own discomfort instead of rushing to erase theirs.
I first encountered this idea in high school when I read “The Invitation” by Oriah Mountain Dreamer. Of everything in that beautiful poem, one line has stayed with me for years: “I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, fade it or fix it.”
At the time, I thought it was simply a lovely sentiment. Years later, after sitting with grieving families, walking beside friends through unimaginable loss, and experiencing grief myself, I finally understood what those words were asking of us.
Sometimes the greatest gift we can offer is simply our presence.
I remember sitting with families throughout my career who apologized for crying. They would say, “I’m sorry,” between tears as if grief were something embarrassing. I always tried to remind them there is nothing to apologize for. Grief is often part of the package when you love someone and there is no need to be ashamed of it.
I frequently find myself telling someone who is dealing with loss that the boat may be leaking but we’re in it together. Whatever form a person’s grief takes, our role as friends and family is just to be there reminding the person we love that they are not alone.
That often looks much quieter than we imagine.
It can be sitting in silence and ignoring the urge to fill every empty space with words, or remembering the anniversary everyone else forgot.
It also means accepting that grief is inconsistent.
One day your friend may laugh until they cry over an old memory. The next day they may cancel plans because getting out of bed feels impossible. Neither day is more real than the other. Grief is full of contradictions. It is possible to feel grateful and devastated, hopeful and angry, peaceful and heartbroken all in the same afternoon.
There is another part of this that we do not talk about enough. Loving someone through grief can be exhausting. Watching someone suffer without being able to change it can leave you emotionally drained. You may find yourself grieving the person they used to be before loss changed them.
Give yourself permission to acknowledge that. Supporting someone else does not require pretending that you are unaffected.
Take breaks. Spend time with people who refill your own emotional cup. Continue living your life without feeling guilty for experiencing joy. Loving someone in grief does not mean climbing into the darkness with them. It means carrying a flashlight while they find their way.
Grief eventually changes shape. It rarely disappears, but it becomes something people learn to carry. If you continue showing up with patience, consistency, and compassion, your presence becomes part of that healing.
Greif takes patience, both with a loved one you are supporting and with yourself. People often avoid grief when they can because they don’t know what to do.
Sometimes it simply looks like doing exactly what that poem has been asking all along: sitting with pain, without trying to hide it, fade it, or fix it.
About the Author: Meghan Fitzpatrick is a business development representative at Old Colony Hospice & Palliative Care. She has a strong background in assisted living and dementia care. She is also a trained support group facilitator for the Alzheimer’s Association. Her compassion and knowledge make her a vital part of Old Colony Hospice’s outreach efforts. She is a trusted resource in the community, connecting with families, providers, and community partners throughout the region and can be reached at mfitzpatrick@oldcolonyhospice.com.
