Inconvenient (On My Father's 4th Yortzeit)

 Dear Dad,

As your 4th Yortzeit approaches tonight, the word that comes to mind is inconvenient.  Nothing about your passing has been convenient or comfortable for me - that I'll acknowledge - but let's review for a moment what these last few years have been.  That first year, your death thrust me into a year of aveilut and a whirlwind of Kaddish that interrupted nearly every facet of life (including all my dates with Saleh).  Your second Yortzeit fell on my birthday/Maggie's naming party and the third was in the middle of a global pandemic.  And this year... I'm waiting to go into labor any time now - I don't know if I'll be in shul tonight to say Kaddish or at the hospital meeting your new grandchild.  Inconvenient is an understatement!  I've made all the plans within my power... and now the decisions are up to Baby and Hashem - as they always were.  I guess one important lesson from these last 4 years is about how many things are outside of my control, whether I like it or not! 

On the other hand, the last few years have also been filled with blessings - Meeting Saleh, Marc's and my weddings, the birth of your 2 (almost 3 grandchildren) and more.  Would that you could have been here for all of them... For example - I wish you could have heard me speak at Seudah Shlishit at the end of that first year... I could have chosen any topic - it didn't need to be about missing you!  And on your second Yortzeit, wouldn't you have rather held Maggie in your arms than had her named for you?  And the pandemic... well - I can't really lay that one at your feet, but I imagine that you and Uncle Paul could have figured something out if you'd put your heads together... maybe you're working together on a solution even now so that we can celebrate your new grandchildren properly - safely surrounded by loving family and friends!

Bottom line is... I'm still missing you - especially now that I'm on the verge of (finally) becoming a parent myself.  I can't believe it's been 4 years... and what years they have been...!  I'm not mad anymore (at least not right now) and I recognize that missing you won't really go away, but gosh it's inconvenient.  

Thinking of you with love...

All of us 

In loving memory of Maury Joseph Fechter - Mordechai Yosef ben Shmuel (24th Av)

A Club No One Wants to Join

The experience of loss is jarring.  Whether preceded by a long illness or a sudden, unexpected parting, it is impossible for the survivors to return to a place of blythe ignorance of the pain induced by the mourning process.

What I learned from my own experience of mourning for my father makes me feel both more hesitant and more determined to do my part in offering comfort when the time arises.  

As a friend commented to me in the aftermath of losing her father, "the worst possible thing has happened - how can there be any more sorrow left in the world!"  So true.  It is unthinkable that so much pain can exist, and knowledge and understanding of the toll my own pain took and the road I've had to travel since only makes such news even harder to bear.

I know I cannot comprehend anyone else's feelings of grief and loss.  There are so many many human variables at play.  

And yet, I feel. 

From the other side of the curtain, I find myself tearing up at news of the death of a stranger's aged parent.  I cry for a bereft adult child who has lost a parental confident after many years of love and support.  And I cannot fathom the loss endured by young children with so many milestones to be experienced in the absence of a beloved parent.  And other unspeakable losses... There are no words.

And yet, I feel. 

I feel news of loss more deeply and more keenly than I ever did.  Making it simultaneously easier to empathize and harder to offer comfort, because I know that platitudes are not helpful.  

It is a painful conundrum. 

I cannot offer happy hopes that the pain will swiftly go away... because I know it will not.  I cannot visit a shiva house without experiencing flashbacks of my own period of intense grief and I wish with all my heart that there was any kind of fix - something I could offer that would make a real impact and lesson the pain of the other.  And yet, when I was sitting shiva, I found the greatest comfort from those whose faces showed that they understood - and my heart cried for them too.  

The experience of losing a family member inducts you into a club that no one wants to join - and even so, we are lucky that Jewish tradition offers beautiful mechanisms such as shiva, kaddish & community/shabbat meals, etc. to help us connect to each other.   I feel truly grateful to have found support from my community during my most difficult time and I hope that my experience has, in some way, helped others to find some solace from their own pain.  And in my heart of hearts, I wish I could close the club membership so no one would experience further loss or pain.  At least not until 120 years. 

The Blessing of My Tears

Written in memory of my father, Maury Joseph Fechter  מרדכי יוסף בן שמואל on his 2nd Yortzeit, כד׳ אב.

In honor of my father's 2nd Yortzeit, I have a special request: Please don't apologize for my tears!

In the last two years, I've experienced such a variety of emotions that it is sometimes hard to sort them all out.  Sadness, loss, grief, anger, love, pride, joy, excitement, longing... the list continues.  Getting married was a true emotional high and such a joyous day.  Walking to the chuppah without my father by my side was something I had never imagined. 

I've cried so many kinds of tears in the last two years that it is impossible to keep track... and sometimes impossible to hold them back.  And I don't want to.  

Each tear is love.  

Each and every tear is a memory, part and parcel with the emotions it triggers.  

And each tear keeps my father close to me in ways that I cannot describe.  But I will try. 

I am so very proud to be my father's daughter.  He was a kind and compassionate man, who quietly tried to take away pain wherever he could.  The Rabbi who conducted my new niece's naming drew a comparison to spices... everyone who met my father walked away with a positive experience.  What a high bar he set for the little granddaughter who carries his name!  

My father was a talented and gentle dentist who preferred not to be any more intrusive than necessary.  I miss him every time I schedule an appointment to sit in the dental chair.  Moreover, he was a dental therapist, who helped calm the emotional nerves, while the novicane controlled the physical ones. 

I tear up when I hear a familiar cadence, or when my husband unknowingly uses a similar mannerism.  I cry to think that my husband never met my father and will never know how wonderfully similar they are in kindness and caring and compassion (as well as punniness and culinary interests).  

I know it sounds like I'm crying all the time (inside, if not outwardly), but I'm not.  I live my life as my father would wish, experiencing positive, happy emotions on a daily basis as well.  Sometimes months go by without a tear.  Sometimes the floodgates open with a particular trigger.  I generally cope pretty well, with moments of weakness here and there.  I'm choosing to give voice to those moments now because they have become a part of me and a part of my process.  And because one thing I wish more people understood about grief is that I'm not ashamed of my tears.   

I get emotional when thinking about my memories and also when I'm afraid that my memories are getting lost. I'm angry at my father for leaving without warning and, at the same time, glad he didn't suffer.  I miss asking him my dental questions - no one will ever take as good care of me in that chair as he did.  And I miss the memories I'll never have - of him meeting my husband, walking me down the aisle, and holding my children.  

It's a mixed deck, but it's the hand I've been dealt.  My biggest fear is that with time he'll slip away completely.  That I'll stop crying one day for good.  And I can't bear that thought.  Because I want to feel.  I need to remember.  I must tell his grandchildren and great-grandchildren what a wonderful Zayde they had.  

Sometimes the tears run quietly down my face, and sometimes they are accompanied by sobs.  Sometimes they simply glisten at the corners of my eyes.  Sometimes there are long dry spells; while sometimes they come in a flood.  But each one is an expression of love.  A memory.  A thought or a feeling.  

Each one tells me that I can still feel.  And for that I'm truly grateful.  

So please, please... don't apologize for my tears.  Offer me a tissue or a hug, or better yet, offer a memory or ask me to share one with you.  Help me remember, help me feel, and most of all, let me add my tears to the river of memory. 

Men: Please Don’t Sit in the Women’s Section!

This is a pubic service announcement for all men who choose to sit in the

women’s section out of convenience, comfort, curiosity, or just sheer ignorance.  

You may never have thought about it before and your sitting in the women’s

section may be completely accidental on one particular day - but it matters.  

Or you may be someone who likes to spread out, and you see a whole empty (for now)

section where you won’t have to share a row with another man.  But the fact that

so many men seem to make this choice on a regular basis truly baffles me.  

In many Orthodox synagogues, men have 75-90% of the space at their disposal

on a weekday, so I wonder why some decide to also claim the tiny corner reserved

for us women.  

To all of you, I ask this question:

Have you (man) ever stopped to consider how your choice could affect the

women for whom that section is designated?

Please take a moment and try to imagine how you might feel if, already

running late for Mourner’s Kaddish, you arrive at shul and need to

displace one (or several) men from the women’s section in order to join the service.  

Outcome:

• Those few moments of movement may prevent you from reciting the Kaddish!  
• The discomfort of the encounter itself may last a few moments into

your prayer, affecting your mood and your ability to focus on the words and your intention.

• Now imagine if that woman was your own mother or sister or wife or daughter...

And when this happens again and again, it takes a toll.  

After 4 months of Kaddish, there are probably about an equal number of times

that my simple presence has displaced men from the women’s section as not.  

I’ve tried to be polite and non-judgemental about it, asking “Is this the Women’s

Section?” when I arrive, instead of “Can you (man) please move from this section

designated for me (woman) so I can stand here to say Kaddish for my father.”   

But after five encounters in the last two days, I’m tired of being subtle.  From now on,

I plan to ask the men WHY they choose to sit in the women’s section.

Here’s a tip:

If you can’t answer that question with something other than “Oops” (really?!) or “I was

going to move when you got here” (not helpful) -- or anything that will make me feel better

about displacing you by my simple presence and potentially missing the Mourner’s

Kaddish that I came to recite… well, please, please, PLEASE… just DON’T sit in the

women’s section!

Final note to all the men out there who want to help:

Please spread the word among members of your gender and help reserve the

women’s section for women.  We may not always manage to arrive at the beginning

of the service, but it’s doubly hard to run late and then negotiate for a place

to stand.  Your help with keeping the women’s section clear of men will be

invaluable to all women who ever enter a synagogue to pray.

Holidays - Prepare To Be Unprepared (The First Chanukah Without Dad)

Everyone says that moments of remembering can hit at the most unexpected times. I am finding this to be very true.

In hindsight, I guess that I should have expected the wave of sadness that hit me in the middle of lighting Chanukah candles this first year. I called home like I always do, with the intention of keeping my mom company as we lit the candles together across the distance. Intellectually I knew the facts on the ground, but I didn’t stop to think about the implications for this favorite tradition. In the middle of singing the blessings, though, I remembered that singing all six verses of “Maoz Tzur” was a special ritual my dad and I shared every year. My voice broke. It was hard to continue. Realizing that I would not hear his voice this year caught me by surprise - even though I well knew the reality. It was somewhat comforting to sing his own improvised tune to “Hanerot Halalu,” but truth be told, it is nearly impossible to sing and cry at the same time.

Holidays present an extra challenge for our grief, especially during the first year. Just as we need to get accustomed to the new reality of the absence of our loved one during daily routines, we need to find a new normal for holiday celebrations. The challenge is that these “special occasions” are more memorable for the traditions they invoke and more poignant for their lack of frequency.  This means we have less opportunity to practice adjusting to the change.

I’d like to offer suggestions for how to prepare for the moments that catch us off guard… but I can’t. At least not after only 4 months in this new reality.

The best I can do is take the moments as they come and remember that the tears are a reflection of my love for my father. I guess like finding new love, remembering also happens when we least expect. Those we love impact our lives in more ways than we can count; their presence in our lives constitutes such a powerful part of who we are that moments large and small will trigger emotions both at times we can anticipate and at times we can’t.


If I could offer any advice to myself and others in the future, it would be this:

Holidays can be hard. Especially at first.

Treasure and savor the memories, but don’t miss out on making new ones.
Take pictures and enjoy the company of those around you.

And carry tissues… because there really is no way to prepare to be unprepared.

Food Serving and Storage During Shiva

Part of the shiva experience is the community mobilizing to send in meals for the mourners and their families.  Friends and non-immediate relatives take care of serving the meals and managing the kitchen, while the mourners receive comfort from callers.  The amount of food gifts can be overwhelming, and if not treated strategically, can spoil and crowd the refrigerator.  

~Some tips:

• All scheduling and planning of meals should go through one point person.  There are online tools such as www.takethemameal.com that can assist with this process.  For all gifts, be sure to record both
• the type of food expected/received (to plan some variety) and
• the names of those who sent it (for acknowledgement purposes)
• Don’t leave the freezing and food storage for the end of the week - things will spoil - once the next meal arrives at the home, left overs from previous meal should be frozen right away in portions appropriate to the family size
• Make sure to remind the mourners to drink throughout the day - shiva is exhausting and the mourners are not focused on their bodily needs. Have available cold bottles of water, glasses with ice, coffee, gatorade, etc. and distribute regularly.
• Plan designated meal times spaced reasonably around services so that mourners have time to chew and swallow some food without being inundated by visitors.  Note that eating may be onerous for the mourner during this time… try not to rush the meal if possible.   You may want to post specific times for visitors and specific times for family privacy.  If these are listed outside a locked front door, visitors will know when to return.

For those involved with organizing the shiva house, you can find a shopping list here for some items you will want to have on hand.

*Sharing the News - Some Perspectives on When & How

As someone who values my privacy and prefers not to be the center of attention, I was initially reluctant to share the news of my father’s death beyond a small circle of close friends.  I struggled with whom to tell, when, how, and in what way.  Shocked by the suddenness of it all, at first I shared with only a few close friends.  As the day went on, and reality started to slowly seep in, I decided to share the news with my synagogue community and eventually a post on Facebook.  

In retrospect, these were the best decisions.  My choice to publicly share my sad news allowed friends from elementary school, teachers from high school and even recent beaux to come to shiva to pay their respects.  The outpouring of love from both close and distant acquaintances helped to add a cushion to the most difficult period of my life.  I am grateful to all who reached out to offer comfort, and all the more grateful that I gave them that chance by spreading the word.  

How Friends and Clergy Can Help

~ Ask before sharing news to make sure mourner is prepared to respond to outpouring of sympathy.

~ Suggest communities where the information can be posted (synagogue groups, schools, clubs and social organizations)

~ Offer to take on the role of notifying others on behalf of the bereaved

~ Take a moment to read through and edit any information sent to you by the mourner... they may not have the headspace to check spelling and punctuation, but a quick review on your part will be a great help.

Shopping List for a Shiva House

When my grandfather passed away, my relatives looked at each other and said “make sure we have lots of toilet paper.”  I didn’t understand what they meant until I saw the sheer numbers of people who visited for condolence calls, not to mention relatives and friends who arrived to help out and sleep over…

Here’s a short list of supplies you will likely need right away:

• Tissues
• Toilet Paper
• Press and Seal -- this ziplock product is great for covering mirrors (as well as useful for food storage)
• Paper goods: cups, plates, bowls, napkins, plastic silverware
• Garbage Bags
• Post-Its or Sharpie Marker to label food items (with contents and date)

Additional items to consider:

• Bottled water, Gatorade, Coffee
• Sleeping Aids (Melatonin, Tylenol PM or prescription)
• Ziplock Bags/ Containers for food storage

Ritual items can often be obtained through a synagogue or funeral home. These include a 7 day candle, low chairs for mourners, extra chairs for visitors, siddurim (prayer books), a Torah, etc. You may want to have a Tzedakah Box on hand to receive charitable donations during the minyan. In addition, a notepad to keep track of meals sent in and any money received for messages left for the mourners.

Kaddish - A Daily Ordeal (and How Shuls Can Help)

Reciting kaddish daily after the death of a close family member can be trying at the best of times.  FIRST, there is the tetris challenge adjusting your schedule around changing minyan times.  THEN comes the feat of arriving at the start of services, which can be likened to running to catch a train three times a day.  FINALLY, there is the stress of keeping up with the chazzan, so as to be ready to recite the Mourner’s Kaddish in the appropriate places in the service.  While these three challenges are shared by all, after this point, the experience diverges for male and female mourners.  

Male mourners may be faced with the chiyuv, the obligation, to lead the service and catch a few extra kaddishes in memory of their loved one.  They may receive diverse feedback regarding the pacing, speed and volume of their performance, which can be confusing at best, or hurtful depending on how it is offered.

Female mourners have a different set of challenges.  On any given day, most of the following thoughts flit through my head during the service:

• OK, I’m here… I’ve entered (or found, or constructed or negotiated for) the women’s section.  Will there be a minyan for the early kaddish?  
• Will there be anyone saying kaddish on the men’s side?  I don’t want to say kaddish aloud on my own unless I know that the Shul will support me in doing so.  
• Do I need to alert someone that I’m here to say kaddish?  How can I get their attention?
• Will I be able to hear the man’s kaddish? Will I be able to keep pace?
• What if I miss a beat and pause at different intervals than the others.  Will anyone answer to my kaddish? Or will I be greeted by silence?
• I wish I didn’t have to be sitting here alone.
• Oh good, company!  … but I hope she’s not here to say kaddish too...
• Oh no… glad to have company, so sad we have to meet under these circumstances.
• I don’t want to stick out like a sore thumb; it feels strange and uncomfortable to hear my voice in a shul service.
• Will they think I’m trying to make a “statement?”  
• I never asked for ANY of this!
• Gosh I miss my father…

How a Shul Can Be More Friendly to Women Saying Kaddish

• Ensure that men do not sit in the Women’s Section.
• Make sure that the Women’s Section is unlocked, with lights, air conditioning, and siddurim available to all who arrive at whatever time they arrive.
• Ask the male mourners (or at the very least one male mourner) to stand near the women’s section so any women saying kaddish can keep pace with him (it can be hard to hear a group scattered throughout the room and keep pace with one person).
• Arrange for someone on the men’s side to recite kaddish at the minyan every day, on behalf of anyone who needs to follow along (and may not make themselves known in advance).
• Delegate a gabbai, officer, or member at large to welcome women when they arrive and/or at least be available to notice if a woman tries to signal that she is there to recite kaddish.
• Create “notification cards” in the women’s section that can be passed to the rabbi or gabbai to notify them that a women is planning to recite kaddish at this minyan (so that the minyan can make whatever preparation necessary to ensure that kaddish is not skipped or rushed through).

How a Shul Can be More Accommodating to All Mourners

• Set a consistent pace:
• Designate one individual to recite Kaddish loudly and set the pace for all. This could be the Chazzan (Leader) or someone with a loud voice.
• Designate a central location from which Kaddish is recited by all (preferably near the woman's section so women can easily hear and keep pace).
• Announce "Kaddish" so that mourners can collectively begin at the same time.
• Make an effort to minimize talking during this time, as well as noises that emanate from movement (chair scratching, doors closing, etc.), because this makes it more difficult for mourners to hear each other and keep pace.

• Recommend that the Chazzan breathe (pause) before finishing Aleinu - to give those reciting Kaddish a chance to finish or come to a good stopping point before the Kaddish that follows.

• Have copies of both the Mourner's Kaddish and the Rabbi's Kaddish available separate from the siddur (so that a mourner arriving just in time has quick and easy access to the words).
• These pages can include transliteration for those who need and a note of when kaddish is recited by that specific minyan.

• A little preparation makes a big difference:
• Letting a new arrival know when during the service Kaddish is to be recited is very helpful (also managing expectations by giving a heads' up that there may not be a minyan for the first Kaddish will go a long way).
• Announcing page numbers (so the text can be quickly found).

• Encourage congregants to turn toward and respond when Kaddish is recited.

Saying Kaddish as an Orthodox Woman in a Shiva House

Regardless how liberally minded one is, if she connects to the Orthodox arena, she will never have recited kaddish before… not once.  According to Halacha (Jewish law), Kaddish is one of three prayers that are considered D’varim She’B’kdusha, which require a minyan (quorum of ten men) to recite.  Therefore, these prayers are omitted from Women’s Tefilah services that involve women only, and always led by men in the presence of a minyan.  (The other prayers are Barchu and Kedusha).  

The experience of reciting Kaddish aloud, in a mixed setting, and waiting for a response from that same mixed group of people can feel shocking, surreal, uncomfortable and any number of other emotions.

^ Clergy should be cognizant of looking out to make sure the woman reciting Kaddish has the correct place in the siddur, knows when to begin and how to proceed, and helping to set an appropriate pace for the rest of the congregants who are reciting the Mourners Kaddish.  The woman’s voice will likely not be loud enough (by nature or by design) to rise above those of the men and demand attention.

~ Friends can help by standing nearby and offering moral support and a response where warranted.

~ If you are in shul and a woman is saying Kaddish, turn toward them, or even sit closer.  There’s a good chance they will welcome your proximity - I know I have.

Uncomfortable Experiences to Be Prepared For:

• “Yechupitzville, Population One”: Standing by oneself on the far side of the room from the rest of the minyan (in lieu of a mechitza).  Even well-meaning close relatives who love you may not understand how it feels to be deported to Siberia.  
• ~ friends visiting a shiva house where a woman is saying kaddish can make an extra effort to stand near her (or as close as is comfortable if they are male) to offer moral support.  
• “What am I, chopped liver?”: Watching any male mourners surrounded by supportive community members for the recitation of the first Kaddish, while you are left alone to fend for yourself.
• Hat tip to my neighbor who noticed me standing with a siddur, intending to recite the kaddish, and made a point of standing near me to help me find the right page and offer moral support while I worked my way along.
• “Yoohoo, I’m over here!”: attracting attention of those leading the minyan to submit the name of a “sick or recovering relative or friend” for a Misheberach (prayer for the sick).  This is especially tricky if everyone in the room is hard of hearing…
• “You’ve got to be kidding!”: waking up early to get to minyan in time for the early kaddish (~2 minutes after start time) only to have it skipped due to lack of minyan (bring tissues for such an occasion, especially first day out of the house after shiva).  
• A few tips and tricks:
• Keep a stack of post-its and a pen nearby
• Write the name of the sick friend on a Post-It and leave strategically around the room before the service begins (keep an extra stack nearby for when those Post-Its you placed are not found when needed)
• Use your speaking voice - when the men announce "kaddish!" from a huddle reminiscent of football practice, call out “What page?!”  That will remind them you are present and perhaps inspire them to wait for you to catch up.  Otherwise you may never find the place in time.  

*Kaddish at the Funeral - know before you go (if possible)

The kaddish recited at the funeral is longer, more complex, and different from every other kaddish that is recited.  It is only recited at the funeral, by the mourners (immediate family), and should be taken very slowly.  

^ Clergy should be cognizant that some of the mourners may be encountering kaddish for the first time, and give some guidance regarding

• when to begin
• how fast to recite
• where to find the text (before the train leaves the station).

What to Say (and What Not To Say)

Before I continue, I want to say that I appreciated every single visit, phone call, text, email, Facebook chat and comment, WhatsApp message, virtual hug and telepathic communication I received during shiva and beyond.  It was nothing less than an inundation of love and caring that helped to add a cushion to a very difficult time.  

I also recognize that many people feel uncomfortable when faced with someone else’s loss and do not know what to say in consolation.  It’s a tricky time when emotions run high, and well intentioned comments may come with a sting.  

For this reason, I want to use this space to offer some tips to those fortunately uninitiated into the club of loss and those who struggle to find the right words when words feel so terribly inadequate.  Note: if you have used any of the phrases on the “Don’t Say” list in the past, don’t waste time feeling badly.  I know that your words were well meant and I will never hold it against you… there’s also a chance it gave me a much needed laugh (not at your expense, but at the words themselves).  Don’t look back; just move forward and choose from the “Say” list in the future.

Here’s a great article from the New York Times, published the day after I got up from Shiva.  Many of its recommendations are on point.  My personal suggestions are below: https://www.nytimes.com/2017/08/24/smarter-living/condolence-letters-how-to.html

Here’s What You Can Say:

• “May your memories bring you comfort.”
• “May you find comfort among family and friends.”
• “May you be comforted among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.”
• “I don’t know what to say.”
• Just say my name.
• “Can I give you a hug?” (good idea to ask first, not everyone will accept)
• Nothing at all… just sit and be there with me.
• Tell me a story about my father that I don’t know… or remind me of a shared memory.
• Ask me about my father or if I want to show you a picture.
• Remind me who you are…
• I want to remember, I really do.  Seeing your familiar face means the world to me at this moment.  
• Please don’t be offended if I can’t recall your name right away… my brain is on overload.  I promise, it’s not personal.
• Walk up to me with confidence.  
• It’s a sad moment, but I promise not to bite you for walking through the door.  I am glad you came.  Don’t forget that I’m still me.  Please treat me like you would always treat me.  If you enter shyly or look uncomfortable, it will make me feel uncomfortable too.  
• “Thinking of you and sending a hug.”  (If you can’t be there in person)

Don’t Say:

• “I’m sorry about your loss.”  
• Do you think I misplaced him, like a missing sock?  Kind of hard to overlook a close family member.  (I know what you mean, but I found it more comforting to hear “I’m sorry about your father.”)
• Some feel that the word “loss” is too generic… personalizing the sentiment can help to comfort the person who is mourning (please do be sure to get it right, though).
• Better to be specific, though if you’re not sure who passed away, stick with generic loss.  Far better than mistakenly mentioning a relative that is still living.
• “I can’t imagine what you must be going through.”  
• I’m SO glad you don’t know and I don’t want you to try.  It’s bad enough that I know what I’m going through… your imaginings won’t help me and they’ll scare you.  My father said that the bad times will find us, “don’t waste time being afraid.”  
• Just be here for me.  You don’t have to say anything and you definitely don’t need to try to imagine what I'm feeling.
• "I'm sorry I didn't call/text/teleport/fax/etc."
• I know you mean well, but apologies are not necessary. I don't want to know what you were doing while I was hurting... your mentioning it just sends the memories rushing back.
• Focus on right now - use any phrases from the "say" list and then follow my lead about whether I want to talk about my loss or about something/anything else.
• “We’re short one (for a minyan).”  
• Of course we are - it’s a shiva house.  Watch your words please… this can bring back hurtful thoughts.  I’ll just go ahead and call my dad…. oh wait…  he’s not here… anymore.  Tissue please.  
• Figure out a better way of finding that last person for the minyan (note: I know your heart is in a good place… this is probably something you’ve never thought of before).
• “How are you doing?”  
• How do you think I’m doing?
• “What’s wrong?”
• Ditto above…
• “Baruch Dayan Emet (blessed is the true judge).”  
• This is the first blessing a mourner is allowed (forced) to recite after tearing clothes at the cemetery.  Please don’t throw those charged words back in my face… this is my tragedy, not yours, and you don’t get to cavalierly tell me what I should be thinking.
• You can say this when you hear bad news yourself… but saying it to the mourner in person or in writing is in poor taste (my humble opinion).
• “I hope you’re doing well.”  
• What’s wrong with you?
• “What happened, was he sick?”  
• Does it really matter?  
• How does making me rehash the horror help you (or me, for that matter)?
• If you want to know whether the death was sudden, try asking exactly that: “Did you have any warning?” This focuses on the mourner's experience rather than any extended illness or discomfort that preceded the death.
• Tell me all about your own tzuris (troubles).  
• No offense, but my brain is not in a place where it can take in anything beyond the immediate task of navigating grief.  
• Don’t be upset if later I don’t remember anything you say… it wasn’t the right time to share it anyway.
• “Let me know how I can help.”  
• I know you mean well, but now I have to a) remember that you offered, b) think about your want/need to help me, c) find a job for you, d) look up your phone # or contact info, and e) reach out and ask you to do it.  
• You really want to help?  Call me with a specific offer.  I’ll know you’re there and willing to help and will be more likely to either give you a job right then or think of you later when I need the same job done.  [See post: "What Can I Do To Help" for some constructive ideas.]
• Remember, I don’t know yet what I’ll need to get me through the next days and weeks and months, and the needs may change and evolve with time.  Please don’t be offended if I don’t take you up on this well intentioned offer.
• “Call me if you need anything or want to talk.”
• Ditto above.
• The sentiment is sweet, and if I ever get to make the list I intend to create of all the people who reached out with all of their generous, considerate offers, I'll make sure to make a note and reach out when I need to. In the meantime, checking in every so often and asking what I'm up to (rather than how I'm doing) will be much appreciated.
• “That's life.”  No it's not, it's death.  If you don't know, don't try to tell me… (I'm SO glad you don't know.  Still, don't tell me.)
• “Things happen for a reason.”  Were you trying to make me feel guilty?  I feel badly enough already… and if given the choice between your “reason” and my father, I’d choose my father.  But no one gave me a choice….  Go philosophize out of my earshot.

Tips for the mourner:

• Think about what YOU want to talk about during the Shiva and deflect the conversation in that direction. Personally, I wanted to collect as many stories about my father as I could.
• (I also wrote them down in a notebook and told the visitors I was doing so - this helped me alleviate some of the fear that I would forget.  Someone else I know used a tape recorder to preserve stories about his father.)
• Prepare a quick and pithy response to the inevitable questions about cause of death (and other annoying questions), then redirect the conversation toward your own goals.
• When people offer to help, tell them to check in with you in a month or two.  You can even start assigning 2-3 people to give you a call in a specific month by giving them a concrete assignment: “Please take me for a walk in September” or “Let’s meet for dinner in October”
• You may need to remind people that you’re not yet able to make specific plans, but if they check in as time goes on, you’ll appreciate it, and have a better idea of your needs.
• Don’t offer this invitation to someone whose company you will not appreciate.
• Direct people toward a friend or friends who can coordinate on your behalf concrete things such as meals, company for minyanim, walks, etc.

Again, these tips are meant to make the consolation process a bit easier for all concerned and should in no way be taken as a criticism... by anyone. I appreciated all the outreach I received and continued to receive, and will always remember the love and caring that surrounded me and helped me move through the darkest moment of my life.