There is no right way to say goodbye: Moving with grief

My family with my Granddad before he passed. Photo: Supplied

Death is universal.

The way we say goodbye isn’t.

We don’t talk about it much, and when it inevitably arrives, we improvise. Through rooms of prayer and song, or maybe a slideshow clicking through as we share stories over a drink. No matter our religion, family habits or private fears, there is no single way to grieve.

As we get older, the people who once chased us around the playground now struggle to stand. The idea of losing them, and eventually each other is hard to grasp. With that in mind, I asked friends from different backgrounds about their experiences with death.

A key denominator in death is the afterlife, with the fundamental question being is there one? Friends I talked to find comfort accepting that there might be something beyond this world. “It seems scary at first, but when you realise we can’t do anything in our power to stop it, it brings peace”, one said.

When his grandfather died, the Catholic mass felt right. “The core belief is life after death. I felt he was in a better place.” For him, faith shaped grief, grounding himself in the scripture to find greater peace in the grieving process.

Others feel less tied to formal religion but still sensed presence. “I like to imagine a dead family member watching over you in some way,” one friend said.

The goodbye itself looks different. One friend described the way emotion spreads in a trational service. “At my nana’s funeral there were people who barely knew her, but the emotional charge in the room got everyone crying. In that sense funerals are almost beautiful. 

Another friend has mostly known wakes with “booze and stories,”one last good memory filled with as much joy as possible.

When my Grandad died, we had both a Catholic service and aspects of Māori tangihanga, with his coffin being open on our family orchard adorned with a korowai (traditional cloak). As hard was it was, being together mattered. Eight years on, we still bring him to the table in stories over dinner. He passed two days after Father’s Day, a day he’d spent visiting every one of us. What I keep from that week has stuck with me: hug the people you love, and make sure they know that.

Several friends said they weren’t scared for themselves so much as for the people they will leave behind. “I’m less afraid of dying than of how it would affect my family,” one said.

Family values have helped reduce these fears. “In my family we accept that what will happen will happen. It doesn’t stop us being sad, but we don’t see death as evil. Everyone’s in the same line; when it’s your turn, it’s your turn.”

I have come to believe the more at ease we are with death, the more fully we live. Knowing that our time here on earth is precious, forces me to make the most of each day.

So, tell you friends you love them, call your parents, be nice to your siblings and visit your grandparents.  The people around us make life worth living, and you never know when they won’t be here anymore.