I have fucked this up often.
Here is what I have come to believe: people who are not grieving tend to think of grief as a problem to be solved, that there are words which help, actions which reliably help, things which can be done and thought and felt. This is, speaking generally, not the case. Quite the opposite.
Grief is not a problem to be solved. It is a happening, like clouds crossing the sky. You can observe, you can interact, you can witness, but by and large we are all helpless.
And there is dignity in grief, if we allow it.
So–and I intend to create a rulebook for dealing with grief in others, which I intend to run by people I know who have experienced recent and severe grief–by and large if your mouth is moving, you are probably screwing up.
If you are hugging them, that is likely good.
If they are talking and you are doing nothing but listening, that is likely good.
If you are helping the worst stricken with cooked food–delivered with few words–or chores done while they lie around and grieve, that is likely good.
Every grief, I feel, is a bit different. They are not all the same, and none of them are problems. All of them are existential opportunities both for failure and for growth, and which it is is ultimately up to those suffering.
This is a rough beginning. At some point, I will do better. It is a worthy topic.