Writing Thank You Notes After the Funeral - What to Say, How to Get it Done

Over the past six years since Steve’s death, in grief workshops and counseling sessions, I’ve talked with hundreds of other widows and widowers, as well as others whose loved ones have died.  One of the most common hurdles to leap over in the grief and loss process is writing thank you notes acknowledging the thoughtful care, the flowers, the cards, the remembrances, from those who surround us during these tough times.  I know that for me, despite the immense gratitude I felt in my heart for the thoughtfulness of friends and family, the act of writing the thank you notes was all but impossible. 

In some social circles, pre-printed thank you cards are common — these are often supplied by the funeral home, and state something like “The family appreciates your support and care during this hard time.” 

These types of cards would not have been appropriate in my situation and for my circle of friends and loved ones, many of whom went to extraordinary efforts to shower us with care and love during Steve’s illness and after his death.  Each act of service, each beautiful flower arrangement, each tasty dinner that was lovingly provided needed an acknowledgement of a more personal nature. 

But as I sat with the stack of thank you notes and my address book, my mind was a total blank.  I felt so shattered, cognitively, emotionally, spiritually.  It was difficult to even put pen to paper, much less write something that could convey how much their thoughtful acts were appreciated. 

The days passed, and soon it became awkward to have waited so long.  I knew I just needed to get it done.  I finally realized that getting them in the mail was a lot more important than feeling that I had to write the “perfect” thank you card, so I drafted a brief statement that I could use on all the cards, and then filled in the specifics for each card recipient.  Finally I was able to get these done, and remove that heavy guilt load of unfinished business. 

In the time since, many widows and widowers have asked for tips on getting through this difficult task of the grief process. 

What I’ve discovered:

• Buy a lot more cards and stamps than you think you’ll need - as I continued to think through all the thoughtfulness, I found myself going to the store several times for more and wish I’d just stocked up at the outset.
• The notes don’t need to be perfect - just convey your sincere thoughts. 
• Even if they all seem similar, the recipient won’t know that you said basically the same thing to everyone else to whom you sent a card.  They primarily just want confirmation that the flowers did arrive, that you did receive the dinner they sent, that their contribution was recognized. 
• Several friends have asked for specifics of what to say.  I don’t blame them, and wish I’d had such a list when it was time for me to write my thank you notes.  Please feel free to use these, and to make them your own. 

Start with the introduction:  “Dear _______:  We so appreciate the love and support you have given us during this hard time.” 

Then add a note about the specific acts of kindness: 

• Flowers: “The floral arrangement you sent was beautiful, and so thoughtfully conveyed your care. The blossoms and greenery have added a note of cheer to an otherwise very sad part of our lives.”
• Food/Casseroles/etc: “The delicious _____ you brought/sent was so welcomed, and so comforting at such a difficult time. Sharing your kitchen’s bounty and your talents with us was so thoughtful, and something we will long remember.”
• Sympathy/Condolence Cards: “Your personal note about _____ was so welcome, and so very comforting. We hope we will have more time to share more memories in the days ahead.”
• Pall Bearers/Music at the funeral: “Your participation as a pall bearer [singer, flute soloist, etc.] in the funeral/memorial services was so welcome. Thank you for showing your care in this way.”

Then close your note:  “Your kindness has made such a difference in helping us get through this, and we hope you know how much you mean to us.”

Of course, you’ll want to change the notes to reflect you and your family’s situation - if they are coming just from you, and then change “we” and “us” to “me” and “I.”  And if someone did something extraordinary, such as picking up out-of-town relatives at the airport or hosting overnight guests for you, you’ll include these details as well. 

• I think the key is to just carve out some time, sit down and plow through your list, perhaps starting with the easiest ones.  If your list is long, divide it across several days - don’t worry if they don’t all go out on the same day.  And if you are lucky and can recruit some helpers to take portions of the list, all the better!  I know that following my mom’s death, my sister and sister-in-law and I portioned out the list and made pretty fast work of it, because we each had a manageable number of cards to write. 

You may be one of those lovely souls who can effortlessly write a beautiful, personalized card to each person on your list and if that is the case, I salute you!  But if you’re like me and many others, I hope you’ll take solace in knowing that you’re not the only one to face this task with foreboding.  But you can do this… you’ve already been through one of the worst experiences that can happen, so you can get through this task too.  I promise. 

How did you handle writing the thank you notes following the death of your spouse?  Do you have any helpful advice to share with others?  We’d love to hear from you.

 

Beverly Chantalle McManus lives in Northern California with her two daughters, who have each now graduated from college. She is a bereavement facilitator and core team member of the Stepping Stones on your Grief Journey Workshops, and a frequent speaker and writer on the topic of loss and grief. In addition to grief support, she is also a marketing executive for professional services firms.

© 2009 Beverly Chantalle McManus

Without A Mooring – The Waves Never Stop Crashing

Those of us who have survived the death of a spouse receive ongoing reminders that life will never be the same.  Just as we feel we’re finally able to be buoyant again, as we’re coming to grips with this most devastating loss and the profound changes that overtake every aspect of our lives, it often feels like yet another huge wave comes from nowhere, to crash into us, hurling us to the ocean’s rocky floor, leaving our mouths and lungs filled with sand and salt water.

Sometimes these waves are of a financial nature - many widows and widowers face drastic lifestyle changes with the loss of their partner’s income, sometimes forcing them to sell the home in which they’ve lived for years.  Sometimes the waves are in the form of a health crisis, whether our own, or that of a close family member.  (Researchers have noted that a compromised immune system is very common in survivors of spouse loss - the shock of the loss touches every cell in our body, and leaves us more at risk for infections and illnesses.)  Sometimes the waves take the shape of major upheavals in our immediate and extended families: Babies keep being born, children continue to graduate and move on, weddings still take place, and sadly, sometimes other marriages unravel and end.  Each of these events can leave us feeling even more out of control, even less without mooring than before.

Even though the person nearest to our heart has died, that doesn’t mean that other life around us stops.  Except, of course, when it does mean exactly that… I think even more devastating and untethering than the life events I’ve just mentioned are when others in our circle of family and friends reach the end of their lives and die.  We’ve already lost the most important person in our life, and then it starts to seem like everyone around us is dying too.

For me, just a few months after Steve died, one of my closest friends, Harry, sadly died from AIDs, after a courageous struggle against horrific odds.  This was a friend who had lovingly filled the role of uncle to my daughters, who had been at my side through Steve’s illness and death, and who had been such an inspiration of living a life filled with joy.  I regret to say that in the depths of my own grief over Steve’s death, I was not able to be as good a friend to Harry during his final days as I might have been, and I pray he knows how much he meant to me.

Two years after Steve died, my mother was diagnosed with a rare terminal blood disorder and died just two months after her diagnosis.  To say I was shattered would put it far too lightly.  I sometimes feel as if I am still just barely coming to grips with her diagnosis, let alone the fact that she died and is never coming back.

Later that summer, while surfing on a family vacation in Hawaii, Alan, a dear cousin died, leaving six children for his wife to finish raising.  A few months later, the husband of another cousin died unexpectedly of a health malady that has yet to be explained, leaving Ann a widow at age 39 with four young children.

In the time since my mom’s death, three of my aunts and one uncle have died.  Although each of them had been struggling with major health issues for some time, the death of these dear loved ones has meant the loss of beloved mentors and friends.

The deaths don’t stop, nor do they slow down.  In the first three months of last year, I attended five funerals… the first of which was for my beloved niece Rebecca, who was tragically killed by a speeding motorist while crossing the street on her way back to her apartment from campus on the first day of the college semester.  She had been set to graduate a few months later, and marry that summer.  In the blink of an eye, she was gone.  I still get chills down my spine just remembering the call from my sister telling me the horrible news that January evening.

A week after Rebecca’s death, the husband of my best friend Donna died after a very short battle with cancer of the pancreas.  Chris had been a good friend to our entire family, and to our entire community, and his presence is so sorely missed, and it has been hard to see Donna and their children struggle with this monumental loss.  Just this evening I spoke with her and she said, “People who haven’t been through this just don’t get it, do they?” and unfortunately, I had to agree.

Several good friends, the husband of a dear friend, and the nephew of some very close friends have all died in the time since.  And knowing the ages and health situations of many of my older relatives, realistically, I know that there will be yet more funerals and mourning.

What I’ve discovered: Yes, the deaths continue, yet I prefer to focus on something Robert Frost said, “All that I know about life can be summed up in just three words:  It goes on.”  Even though our hearts may be broken, they continue to beat, and we continue to live.  And I have found that for me, what’s important is to focus on the present, to spend time with those I love, to hug the sweet friends and family members who have made such a profound difference in my life, and to let them know I love them as often as I possibly can.  I also take comfort in the words of one of my favorite poets, Ella Wheeler Wilcox, in her poem , “The Winds of Fate,” which I’ll share here:

One ship drives east and another drives west
With the selfsame winds that blow.
‘Tis the set of the sails
And not the gales
Which tells us the way to go.

Like the winds of the sea are the ways of fate,
As we voyage along through life:
‘Tis the set of the soul
That decides its goal,
And not the calm or the strife.

The ongoing deaths remind us that none of us knows how long we have on this earth, nor do we have much control over very many aspects of our lives or those of our loved ones.  This poem reminds me that despite the winds that seem to buffet me from all directions, I have the power to set the course, set the sails, and determine where I want to go and how I want to feel.

How have you handled the life events and other deaths that happened after you lost your spouse?  I’d love to hear about your experiences.

Beverly Chantalle McManus lives in Northern California with her two daughters, who have each now graduated from college. She is a bereavement facilitator and core team member of the Stepping Stones on your Grief Journey Workshops, and a frequent speaker and writer on the topic of loss and grief. In addition to grief support, she is also a marketing executive for professional services firms.

© 2009 Beverly Chantalle McManus

“(Not So) Happy Birthday!” Dealing with Birthdays, Anniversaries and Other Traumatic Dates

Whether it is the birthday of your spouse who has died, your wedding anniversary, or even the anniversary of the death, traumatic dates bring back so many memories, and also bring up so many feelings of loss and sadness.  But, they can also give us a chance to mark our progress of healing.

These events mark not just another date on the calendar but they are significant milestones within our personal healing journey. Our lives are put on pause, at any stage of our grief journey; in order to honor our lost loved ones. Birthdays, anniversaries and those other traumatic dates each carry their own significance and weight within our hearts.

I’ve noticed that healing a broken heart goes in fits and starts — I’m miserable, then for a few days, all feels well, then a stray melody or memory triggers immense grief that feels almost like the original pain.  Even now, several years later, there is a part of me that can’t believe Steve is gone, or that just two years after he died, my own sweet Mama died.

My mom’s birthday is this week, and Steve’s birthday is coming up in October.  Unfortunately, scientists haven’t yet figured out a way for us to alter the calendar so we can just skip over these painful times.  The anniversaries inevitably take place.  The wrinkle is that the person we wish we were celebrating with is no longer here.

Especially for that first year after the death, the entire month of October was almost impossible to get through.  However, over time, I have learned that rather than feeling shell-shocked during the time surrounding these special dates, we can still celebrate.  My daughters and I have been discussing what we will do to mark the occasions this year.

For my mom’s birthday this year, my dad and siblings and their families are joining together for a birthday dinner to honor this special woman.  In the past, we’ve all met up at an apple farm for a picnic, something we know would have pleased our mom, whose one goal in life was to bring her children together as often as possible.

For Steve’s birthday, over the past couple of years, my daughters and I would go to Rudy’s, his favorite donut shop, and select the same assortment of favorites he used to pick up every morning on his way to work.  We then took them to the cemetery, and even though it sounds slightly morbid, we left the donuts on his grave, knowing they’d soon be enjoyed by the deer and birds that make the space their own.  So this year, since Steve really loved the theater, we’ve purchased tickets to a lively musical that we will enjoy, even though the joy is somewhat bittersweet knowing that he is not there to share it with us.

Sometimes it’s not our spouse’s special days that deliver an emotional blow.  Steve died the week before my own birthday, and that year he died, I wanted no part of any birthday festivities.  My extended family insisted on celebrating despite my protests, and it only made me angry.  How could they think I could even contemplate my own birthday when there was a giant crater where my heart used to be?  Even now, with the anniversary of his death and all the feelings it arouses so close to my birthday, I decided to just stop completely, and instead told folks to celebrate it if they so desired on my half-birthday, six months later.  I totally forgot about this until this August, when my sweet daughters surprised me with a wonderful birthday celebration at our favorite karaoke club, and serenaded me with a song they had been practicing, “The Wind Beneath My Wings.”  For the first time since Steve’s death, I felt like I had a happy birthday.

What I’ve Learned: These traumatic dates come whether we want them to or not.  The key to getting through them, and with hope, at some point transforming them into days of celebration and joy, is to plan ahead.  Thinking through how I might feel on that upcoming day prepares me for the emotional blast.  I’ve come up with some creative ways to celebrate the special days, such as baking his favorite cake, spritzing the room with his cologne, spending time with the photo albums while listening to “our songs,” writing about my feelings in my grief journal, and even buying an anniversary card for him.  These activities help me remember that even though he is not here physically, his memory will always be held in my heart, and I can cherish those special times we had together.

I think the anniversary of the death is far more traumatic and harder to cope with than any birthdays or anniversaries, because it marks a finality of life and the relationship you shared.  In some cases, it is the day that marks the last day you ever shared with this person.  In other cases, it marks the last day your loved one took the final breath, and perhaps you were not at his or her side when this happened.  Unlike the birthdays and anniversaries, for which during life there is an expectation that each year will be celebrated with an optimistic looking forward in life, the death day is for many of us the hardest because it invokes memories of the saddest times.  On the days that commemorate happy occasions, we wish we could all be together again.  But we don’t wish to share death days.  We just wish they had never taken place.

What I’ve Learned: The death day happens once in a lifetime for each person who walks this earth, and is harder for we survivors - it is a matter of what is shared and what we have left to hold on to.  On this day, I usually take the day off from work, knowing that I might be flooded with emotions.  When possible, I visit the cemetery, and always write a letter to Steve, letting him know how I’m doing, and how much I miss him.  After the first year, I realized that yes, I can get through this day.  And it is just one day.  I keep breathing, keep walking, and 24 hours later, I’m once again a survivor.

 

How do you deal with the “harder days”? Have the happier days become easier to cope with?  How do we cope with letting go and sharing these memories or feelings rather than holding them in?  Please share your experiences with me.

Beverly Chantalle McManus lives in Northern California with her two daughters, who have each now graduated from college.  She is a bereavement facilitator and core team member of the Stepping Stones on your Grief Journey Workshops, and a frequent speaker and writer on the topic of loss and grief. In addition to grief support, she is also a marketing executive for professional services firms.

© 2008 Beverly Chantalle McManus