Supporting a bereaved friend following the sudden cardiac death of a young family member

After Nathan died in 2006 my world fell apart and inside of my head was like a tsunami full of desperate thoughts and constant pain! One minute I wanted to curl into a ball and never look at the light again, and the next minute I wanted to scream and rage!

My family and close friends were by my side through it all, listening when I wanted to talk and just to be there when I wanted to curl up and die. They would come in, put the kettle on, talk or listen, which was usually them listening to me questioning why my son has been taken and why our family had been ripped apart.

They talked about Nathan and weren’t afraid to recall memories but also weren’t afraid to talk about our sudden loss, not by trying to make sense of what had happened, just to acknowledge that this terrible tragedy had actually happened!

As time passed the same family and friends helped us to integrate back into “normal” life – there would never be a “normal” for us but we needed to go through daily life, working, shopping and all the things that you have to do even when your son has been cruelly taken from you.

Our family and friends helped us to readjust by just “being there” and were our rocks. They didn’t offer special words to try to make us feel better or make the process any easier, them being there was the most important thing to help us to move through those awful dark days.

Family and friends are still with us almost 13 years on, still sharing birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas’s and happy times – yes we are able to share happy times now (which we would never have been possible in the beginning) with Nathan always in our hearts and remembered with a smile.
Angela Butler

What helps is people remembering, that phone call or e-mail on his birthday, on the anniversary of his death. Not forgetting to remember him at Christmas! That phone or e-mail out of the blue that someone else has not forgotten and had the courage to get in touch
Sue Fisher

One of the most powerful memories of the immediate aftermath and months after Andy’s death is of how isolating it felt when friends and acquaintances felt unable to mention his name for fear of ‘making us feel worse’. What was so wonderful and helpful (especially with hindsight ) was when they could just give a hug, admit that they did not know what to say and feel able to talk about him and keep his memory alive even if it meant crying with us.

Something I found very hard to listen to after his death was colleagues at work complaining about everyday problems and irritations with their own teenage offspring- grumbling about untidiness or teenagers being difficult (as they all are). I wanted to shout at them about how lucky they were to have that problem. So perhaps folk should be careful about complaining about those everyday frustrations which are inevitable with having teenagers in the house when they are in the company of a bereaved parent.
Caroline Gard

The old adage comes to mind, ‘it’s not what you say, it’s the way that you say it’. I always remember in the early weeks after losing our son, when all felt lost and I wasn’t sure how I was going to carry on, my brother-in-law, looked me in the eye and said with such empathy in his voice, ‘you know you have a lot to live for’. There was no hint of ‘pull yourself together’ or ‘at least be grateful for…”, no judgement, no criticism, just the unspoken but underlying tone of ‘it may not seem like it now but you will feel better, you will find a way through, and you will learn to enjoy life again’. This comment gave me some kind of hope. Although I couldn’t begin to see how I would come through at that point, at the same time, I knew he was right and yes I still had something to live for. Gradually, very gradually, I have found a way forward and come to appreciate that I still have a role to play in this life and reasons to live. He will never know the impact those words had on me, and six years on, I can still hear the tone of his voice.
Marion Hayman

Our son’s close group of friends – many of whom he had known since he was 4 years old – have been incredibly supportive to our family. When we see them in what used to be Dan’s local they come and sit with us and invariably the conversation turns to Dan and we hear stories about his antics and what they all used to get up to. We take great comfort from this – more than they probably realise – and it’s lovely to know that they still think about him. Every year on Dan’s birthday they arrange a meal at his favourite restaurant and invite the 3 of us along; we have a laugh a few drinks, a sing song and still shed a few tears.

In contrast to this is a good friend and work colleague of mine; He expressed his condolences following Dan’s death but he has never had children so openly admits that he has no concept of what I have been through. On my first day back after the 3-week absence following Dan’s death, he came up to me, shook my hand and started to talk about football. In a strange way, this helped me as much as the hugs and tears from many other people I work with as it kind of made me realise that life is still going on outside my bubble. Sometimes saying nothing is as much comfort and support to a bereaved person as expressing the sadness you feel for them.
Dave Hughes

I love to talk about Matt but my younger son, who was 27 when his older brother died, seldom talks about his brother. Through him, I first learned that we all grieve in our own way, which was a really valuable lesson.

I find anniversaries very hard; I want to hibernate on those days and wallow in my grief. My son told me that he misses his brother every day and that for him there is nothing special about anniversaries. There have been times when speaking with other bereaved mums that I have found it really helpful to remember his words and to know that we all have our own ways of coping.

My son’s words of wisdom also helped me through one of the hardest days following Matt’s death; the day when we met with his cardiologist with our questions. As we prepared ourselves for the meeting, my son said “Mum, think carefully about what you need to know. Don’t ask questions where you cannot live with the answers”. Those were wise words indeed. We live our lives now with too many ‘What Ifs’ and we torture ourselves with all the alternative answers.

My younger son would be surprised to know how often I have thought about his words, or quoted them to others. After all, we really don’t talk about Matt!
Diana Hunt

It can be very hard to know how to offer support to a grieving relative, friend or colleague. People understandably really seemed to struggle to know what to say or how to be with me after I lost my daughter, and some avoided me. I would advise anyone that no matter how uncomfortable you feel, PLEASE don’t avoid them for fear of not knowing what to say, the worst possible thing has already happened, there is nothing you can say would make it worse. Just be there for them, words or no words, sometimes your presence is all that matters, sometimes just a hug, sitting together in silence can be helpful too.

Listening to them, allow them to express their grief and feelings, don’t judge or be critical of how they are dealing with their grief. They will be experiencing anger, guilt, regret and all kinds of emotions.

Don’t ask them how they are unless you are prepared to hear the answer. I sometimes wanted to scream ‘how the hell do you think I am’. I think it is better to ask them how they are today. Grieving is such a personal space, what helps one person may not help another. A good friend of mine would come out for long walks with me by the sea, which I found comforting.

It is alright to talk about the person they lost, please say their name, so many people thought it was better to avoid mentioning Emma’s name but that hurt and made me feel worse. I found it helped to talk about her, share stories, photos and memories. She is still a huge part of my life that does not change.

Practical help such as shopping, mowing the lawn, housework, answering the telephone, cooking. Dropping off and collecting children from school and taking them out to the park and occupying them giving them some normality is very helpful.

It is so important to remember and offer extra support on special days such as Birthdays, Anniversary, Mother’s Day, Christmas etc. It means so much to me on such occasions when people remember and let me know they are thinking and remembering Emma.

I personally found it very helpful and beneficial to speak to other parents who experienced loss of a child, a good friend of mine told me about CRY and gave me their details, I am continually grateful to her for that.
Paula Hurlbut

What do you do when your world falls apart? Ours did on Dec 14 the 2006 when our daughter died from SADS. Not only did we lose our beloved daughter but our son lost his soul mate and our grandson his mother. So that night our world changed forever. We had become parents again to our 6-year-old grandson.

Our minister from church came round and she was amazing. She came round every Friday for nearly 5 years. She listened and prayed with us and most of all was able to advise us about our grandson, as she had lost her mother when she was only 13. She knew that our grandson would experience grief at different times in his life when he was growing up and so we were prepared as these events unfolded.

She also asked a fellow minister who worked as a bereavement chaplain in a hospital to come with his wife to talk to us from their experience of similarly losing their daughter 10 years previously. He gave us some real words of wisdom… such as the friends that you thought of as friends may not be, and people that you never thought of as friends would come alongside you. He warned that our family may not be able to support as we would want them to. We found all this to be very true as the months passed. He also said that we should grieve in our own way – nobody else’s!

The parents of our grandson’s friends at school were brilliant – one still is all these years later, as she had suffered the sudden loss of her fiancé at the same age as our daughter. These people seemed to know how to be with us. We were invited out to lunch by well-intentioned others, but were worn out with advice about how to get back to being to be ‘normal’.

Those friends who just ‘there’ were the best support —- the two who came every Sunday just to have coffee, the minister from church, the mothers all knew just how to ‘be’ —-they were all just there to be with us, to listen and to expect nothing form us. They were the ones who never asked ‘How are you?’
Carl and Eunice Johnson

I do remember one event that went on to make a big difference, and it was on my return to work. It is not so much about what was or was not said, but more about the feeling of emotion at the time.

Following James death, I had been off work for six months and was feeling very apprehensive. I did not know how I was going to be received, or how I would react. On arriving at work, I had sat in my car for some time, building up the courage to enter the building.

The building had a long glass atrium that ran the length of the building, and it was about 50 yards long. As I walked in I noticed right at the other end of the atrium a member of my staff. He stopped what he was doing, ran the length of the building and gave me a bear hug. When he let go and looked at me I could see the empathy and emotion on his face. I had known him for several years, we were about the same age, and he also had two children. He did not say anything, but he did not need to. It was written all over his face.

That was a landmark day. I experienced other similar moments during that first day back, and I knew I had all my staff wishing me well. It did make a big difference
Jeff Markham

James was a musician and studying at college with many other young people when he died. He had made a particular friendship with an 18-year young woman Claire, and they often worked together. James would write the music and Claire would add the lyrics.

We did not know that at the time of his death they had been working on some music and only found out two years later. We had a phone call from Claire, and she asked to come round to see us.

When she arrived she told us about a song they had been working on, but said that she was so upset following his death, that at the time she could not finish it. However she went on to say that two years later she felt she owed it to James to finish the song, and she had.

She went on to say she had recorded the song, it formed part of a CD that was due for release, and that she hoped we would attend a launch show the production company were planning. We were pleased to accept, and on the night we certainly had VIP treatment. We were introduced to the other musicians, the production team involved on the CD, and some of James old friends were also there.

The musicians played the entire CD, and Claire had named the track she had collaborated on with James as “Free”. It was a very moving experience to listen to the track, and we thought afterwards that the title summed up what had happened to James. It must had been difficult for Claire to finish the lyrics, and we felt they paid a sort of tribute to him.

At the end of the night we were presented with a copy of the CD, and was lovely to see that in the sleeve notes James was named as providing the Lyrics for this track.

We felt that Claire had put a great deal of thought into what she had done, we were so please she involved us, and that he was still in her thoughts.

This experience also gave us the “kick start” to go through all the various music James had recorded, and it is now comforting that have a collection of all the recordings James made. “Free” is added to our collection.
Jeff and Sandra Markham