Sympathy Cards
Vol. 3
We all struggle with what to say in Sympathy Cards. Here are a few simple tips collected from years of client reports, and a personal story that I hope will inspire you.
Share a sweet memory
Avoid greeting card platitudes
Keep the focus on them
Offer specific help
Take the time
When we first learn of a death, most of us feel a natural desire to convey kindness and condolence, but the words fall short. We stop and stutter, we freeze and tell ourselves we'll do it later. We know we should, but it's awkward and we fear we will say the wrong thing. In the face of death, we all feel inept. Coming up with the right words is never easy, because there are no right words, but there are your words. I believe that it’s better to send an “I don’t know what to say” card than no card at all. It’s better to offer what’s on your heart than not offer. Wounded people need to see that the world is still kind, that they haven’t been forgotten, that love prevails. Sending a few, kind, hand-written sentences is one small way to show up. It’s a small thing we can all do.
Start with a simple and sweet memory of something their loved one did; you can refer to the parts of their character you admired and respected. Use their name. “Remember the time we…” or “I always liked the way your mom included me in your family…” or “John had the best smile,” “Did I tell you about the time Pete saved me from…”, “I still remember your grandmother’s mint chocolate chip meringues,” “Aunt Lucy taught me how to knit. Thanks to her I have a hobby I love.” “Jen always had a great big smile on her face. She had a way of making everyone feel welcome.” “Tom was so handsome: he was my secret childhood crush. I will miss him.” Add any little thing that lets them know that their loved one’s life had an impact. If you didn’t know the person who died you can reference the recipient’s love for them... how you witnessed their devotion and caregiving.
Offer your friend real, genuine, authentic sentiments. I recommend that you write several sentences to a couple of short paragraphs. If you are completely at a loss for what to say, say that. It is better than saying nothing. It may be tempting to just sign your name to a card written by a stranger in the greeting card industry, but it is impersonal and can feel empty. Store-bought poems or verses tend to rhyme, be religious or full of platitudes. While your faith may bring you great comfort, imposing it on someone who does not feel the same way is not respectful. Maybe they happen to believe that the “better place” would be back here with them, holding their hand. Maybe they prayed for a miracle and didn’t get one and are now struggling with that. Try not to make comments about God taking only the best, God giving each of us what he knows we can handle, or God needing another angel. We are all trying to make sense out of death, but their sense-making may not match yours. Death rarely makes sense, unless it’s an elderly person who has lived a long and full life and is in constant pain and ready to die.
Keep the focus on them, not your relatable story. I cannot say this enough. It takes a certain amount of maturity to set aside one’s ego and focus entirely on another. You may have been through a loss of your own and think relaying that is helpful, but it is generally not, for it takes the focus off them, and too many times the grieving end up ministering to others when they do not have the strength to do so. Now is their time. Your past grief doesn’t and cannot compare. You can’t fully understand another person’s experience for we all grieve differently.
Offer something specific, like a lunch date, tea for two, a walk, or a night you have marked on your calendar to bring over a casserole. If you leave it to, “Please let me know if there is anything I can do to help,” you will never hear back. It’s just too vague and the timing is off. Everyone says it and thereby renders it meaningless. In the early days of grief, people could not begin to tell you what they need. They don’t know. The storm won’t settle for many months, but knowing that you will ride out the storm with them is a precious gift.
Some twenty years ago I received a sympathy card to top all the rest. It still stands fresh in my mind’s eye. After my father died, I experienced deep sorrow for months on end. I had experienced previous losses as we all do by the time we reach our mid-forties, but my dad’s death brought it home in a way no other loss had. It created a strong need to try and make philosophical sense of life, and death. I reassessed my life. I thought about how much time I had left and what I wanted or needed. I worried for my mom.
I was seeking answers everywhere, anywhere, and in between. I went inward. I had three children to raise and a part-time job that required full presence yet I was depleted. I longed for inspiration but there was only so much time left in the day to seek it, so I went looking for the one-liner… that sign, that phrase, that word in the poem, the stanza in a song, or any simple thing that would let some grace in. I hungered for a daily grace fix. Sometimes I found it in nature, in the innocence of children, in music, and often in journaling. I bided my time, hoping for resolution while trying to keep my eyes open and have a little faith in the beneficent workings of the universe.
I received a handful of sympathy cards, most of which were unremarkable, saying the standard, “Sorry for your loss,” or “You’re in my thoughts and prayers.” Some of the sentiments fell flat because I was stuck in my own narrative. Although the gesture was kind and I knew they were earnestly trying to convey consolation, I could feel their awkward hesitance. My lenses were dimmed by sadness and I didn’t know what I was hoping for. Maybe I expected more kindness than people could afford. Expectation gets me every time. A simple handwritten, “I love you, my friend,” or even, “Oh man, that really sucks,” would have been more palatable than the perceived sense of holding back. I did not know how to voice my needs at the time. A part of me was protecting myself from those who went on and on about their own losses.
But there was this one…this one sweet and simple, hand-painted note that stood above all the rest. It became a turning point for me and has forever changed my idea about sympathy cards. A friend painted a simple watercolor flame with the word “Uprising” on the cover. Inside she wrote “What an exciting time for your father’s soul as he journeys upward!” My jaw dropped. I was expecting someone to feel sorry for me, but this perspective slapped me out of my sadness. It was exciting to consider the possibility of my father’s soul flying free and having himself a new and unfettered adventure. I kept it on my dresser and reread this card for months, and each time I held it, it brought me joy. Without being religious, it spoke to spirit, reminding me that this whole thing was an epic journey with soaring flight and freedom at the end. It gave me a chill and helped me lean into excitement. This was no longer a story about poor me in my father-deprived state. This one phrase shined a spotlight on my father’s soul. The image of the flame worked on my psyche as if someone had struck a match (no pun intended) in a dark room. It conveyed a tiny spark, a flicker, broadening into a warm glow. It was remarkable. It stopped me in my woeful tracks and lifted my chin upward. I had been looking downward so much that I didn’t even know I was doing it. I lifted my chin I saw that big blue, wonderful, expansive sky. Had I not had the foundation to believe in the existence of the soul and an afterlife it may not have had the same impact. Reading those words brought a visceral shift in my attitude toward death, loss, and grief. Simple, kind, and transformative.
In a time when quick texts and emails are replacing our older traditions, I believe taking the time to handwrite a card adds some softness and grace to our rushed lives. The notes received are always appreciated. I have known many widows who saved their cards. I recall one who kept them in a basket next to the recliner she sat in every evening. She carefully wrapped them in a blue ribbon and brought them out on various occasions to reread, unwrapping them and treating them like jewels. Sometimes she needed to remember her husband because she had spent the day distracted by chores and felt guilty that she had not thought about him. Sometimes the grief felt stuck inside and she needed to cry. Sometimes she wished to be reminded that other people loved him too. She needed something physical to hold in her hand. I have known many clients mark a death anniversary by rereading these cards, so take note! These cards are valued more than you realize. They do not need to be perfect or eloquent but simple and kind. During difficult times our friends need to feel an outpouring of generosity of heart and love. Take the time. If the words don't flow take a break and come back to it later. Your subconscious will work on it, dream on it, and help you with a few ideas. I trust that you will be glad you made the effort.