I Wish People Knew What Not to Say or Do to the Bereaved

One of the most common remarks I hear as a woman who recently lost her husband is: 

“You’re so strong.”

Everyone whether they know me well or not at all seem curious to know how I’m doing. The most common response is how I’m so strong. My strength has been compared to rocks and what not. 

Ask the ones who’re the closest to me, and you’ll get the right answer. 

“Tina is shattered.”

I’m not saying it’s wrong to remark someone who’s just lost her husband that she’s strong. But more often than not, she’s not.

I know I didn’t feel strong at all. I didn’t even know what to do in that situation. It was all foreign to me. It still is…

When people tell me directly that I’m so strong given my situation, I tell them matter-of-factly my strength comes from the Lord. If it weren’t for my complete surrender to Him, I really do not know how I would have coped. 

What I went through at the beginning of the year could easily be the script for a blockbuster movie—full of tragedy, heartbreak, pain, and raw humanity. My life was completely topsy-turvy. So, when people around me were calling me strong and sharing my story with others as an inspirational example, I was clueless.

I didn’t feel strong at all.

And that was okay.

I just wanted to be allowed to be human. 

I Just Needed to Fall Apart

When my best friend landed in Boston from Texas, the very first thing I did was run into her arms, hug her tightly, and burst into uncontrollable sobs. It was what I had been yearning to do the entire time.

I had been holding it all together until then. I’m not complaining as every single person by my side filled a gap in that moment. Some offered a patient ear, some helped with practical matters, some brought food, and more.

Had Ryan been there, I would have hugged him for the longest time and simply be myself. My human self. He saw through my strength and into the softest cores of me. It’s not wrong to say he knew me better than I knew myself. 

In the middle of the hospital lobby, surrounded by onlookers—family, friends, and well-wishers—my best friend and I sobbed uncontrollably for a long time, completely oblivious to everyone around us. I was so thankful she flew down immediately after I called her.

It was exactly what I needed so badly. I don’t remember ever feeling such a strong need again to hug someone and cry my heart out like that. That one hug with my best friend has sustained me to date.

But if I ever need to do it again for the sake of my soul’s well-being, I will—even at the risk of being judged and perceived as “weak.”

True strength isn’t about holding it all in like a stoic fortress.

True strength lies in simply “being”—and slowly “becoming”.

The Pressure to Be Strong

Yes, I’m strong. I know that. But, I don’t want my entire personality to be rounded off to just “strength”. 

I’m also meek. I’m vulnerable. I’m human. 

I remember that moment I told my daughter that her daddy wasn’t going to make it past that week and asked if she’d like to fly down. When she said yes, I became teary-eyed. A well-wisher saw me and immediately said,

“How can you cry now? You’ve been so strong all this while. You can’t afford to be weak now. How will your daughter cope?”

I didn’t respond. I know the man’s intention was good but I didn’t have the energy to offer him an alternative point of view. 

I didn’t want my daughter to suppress or hide her tears. I wanted her to be her natural self. There is nothing unnatural about crying for the one you love.

It is absolutely fine for us to grieve and mourn for Ryan. I’d say it is our right to do so too.

If crying were bad or a sign of weakness, why would God have designed it into our human system?

There is a time of mourning. 

In fact, we should mourn for as long as we need to so we can move forward. 

Men, women, and children, all should be allowed to cry and mourn as much as their hearts desire. It’s healthy to let it all out instead of bottling up emotions forever under the guise of strength. 

When It’s Safe to Cry

When I spent time with Ryan in the ICU, there were many moments when I cried. Even though I’d be my cheeriest self while talking to him, I would often break down the moment he lost consciousness.

Many times, the staff would hand me a box of tissues to wipe my tears. But not once did any of them tell me to be strong or advise me not to cry. They were supportive, understanding, and accommodating of my situation.

My point is it’s important to understand we are all humans at the end of the day. We have a heart and soul. We are designed to cry just as we’re designed to laugh. 

As an eternal optimist, I passionately advocate for crying. If you don’t cry and mourn during your time of grief, then when would you? 

Crying doesn’t make you weak—or strong. It simply means you’re human.

When Empathy Feels Performed 

While most people were genuinely helpful restoring your faith in humanity, there were a few who made you take notice—and not in a good way.

I remember one woman sitting among the first few front rows at Ryan’s funeral. In the middle of the service, she walked over to our family seated in the first row, greeted us, then asked my daughter to move aside so she could take the seat right at the front. That bench was reserved for immediate family. Of course, we weren’t going to confront her or ask her to move. She happily settled in because the spotlight—the cameras and photographers—would be focused on her. It was almost unbelievable and comical to watch her expressions during the service. While everyone else was either sobbing or sitting with solemn faces, she smiled brightly like a celebrity at an awards show whenever the cameras were focused on her.

Then there were the overly dramatic messages and posts that felt so fake. A simple, sincere one-liner would have been far better. I’m not saying all long messages are insincere. Long or short, it’s usually easy to tell the genuine ones from the fake—like separating the wheat from the chaff.

And then there are people who promise you the sun, the moon, the stars, and the entire universe in your darkest hour. This is usually just to satisfy their own ego and put on a show for others. Their words and actions rarely match.

You’ll also come across those who are secretly pleased by your misfortune.

Then there are people who show their support but make every conversation about themselves—as if talking about the dead is taboo.

Please check with the bereaved first and ask whether they want to talk about their loved one. I understand that death can be an uncomfortable topic for many people, but it may not be for the one who is grieving. Let the bereaved decide what they want to discuss. For all you know, they might be longing to talk about their deceased beloved to anyone willing to listen.

I hold no malice toward any of them. This is simply who they are. I genuinely hope better sense prevails—and I truly pray it does, especially if any of them are reading this.

What Truly Matters

What truly matters to someone who has lost a loved one is your pure intention. If you speak or act from a place of genuine love, you really can’t go wrong when consoling them.

I’ve learned so much from this experience. The love and kindness shown by people across all faiths—even strangers—has left me in awe. I’ve even told a few of them that I aspire to be like them: to be that light in someone’s hour of darkness. It’s pure and unconditional love.

If we cannot be there for one another in times of grief, are we truly human?

This post is a part of Blogchatter A2Z Challenge 2026.