Death, Grief & “What Do I Do?”

I have struggled with writing this, but I think it needs to be said.

Please understand my heart: this is not a criticism of anyone. I know that when people are faced with someone else’s loss, they may not know what to say or do. I want to share what I have learned through losing Matthew—not to make anyone feel guilty, but to help us care for one another better, make the world a little better, and honor God through our actions.

So why was this on my heart to write about?

Because I believe deep down that people are good. People care. People want to say the right thing. They want to do the right thing.

But sometimes fear gets in the way.

We become afraid we're going to say the wrong thing.

We're afraid we're going to do the wrong thing.

We're afraid we're going to bring up something that's too painful.

So instead of risking saying or doing the wrong thing, we do nothing.

Then time passes.

A day becomes a week. A week becomes a month.

And eventually guilt creeps in.

“I should have called.”

“I should have sent that text.”

“I should have gone.”

“I should have done something.”

And pretty soon that guilt can consume our thoughts and make it even harder to reach out.

I'm here to tell you: let's break that chain.

You don't have to know the right thing to say.

You don't have to know the perfect thing to do.

You don't have to fix someone's grief.

Just do something.

So here are a few thoughts from someone who is living through it.

I realize that, for many of you reading this, I'm probably preaching to the choir. But since Matthew died, Macie, Jennifer and I have heard more than once:

“I didn’t call because I didn’t know what to say.”

“I didn’t text because I didn’t know what to say.”

“I didn’t text because I didn’t want to bother you.”

“I didn’t attend the Celebration of Life because I didn’t know what to do.”

“I don’t know how to deal with death.”

Here’s the thing:

None of us know what to say or do.

Jennifer and I certainly didn’t.

In many ways, the position God placed us in reminded me of becoming a parent for the first time. Nobody hands you an instruction manual.

There’s no book that tells you exactly what to do when your 22-year-old son is having a seizure.

There’s no manual for what to say when he tells you, “Mom didn’t feed me last night,” when you know darn well his mom was up six times during the night taking care of him.

You don’t argue with him.

You don’t say, “That’s not true.”

You certainly don’t take it personally.

His mind and his body were no longer working together the way they once had because of the brain tumor.

So you say, “I’m sorry. What can I get you?”

And you serve him.

You love him.

You turn to God.

Maybe it shouldn’t surprise me that my mind often went to the book of James. After all, his name was Matthew James Mitchell.

James tells us that faith without work is dead. Genuine faith produces action. We care for people. We serve people. We show up for people.

James 1:5 tells us that if we lack wisdom, we should ask God, who gives generously. That verse resonated deeply with me.

James 3:17 describes wisdom from above as pure, peaceable, gentle, full of mercy and good fruits.

That reminds me of Jennifer.

It was our honor to serve Matthew.

And maybe that brings me back to what I really wanted to write about tonight:

Death. Grief. And what in the world are we supposed to do when somebody we care about is hurting?

Losing someone isn’t easy.

It is hard.

Really hard.

And once again, there isn’t a perfect instruction manual telling you what to say, when to say it, or what you’re supposed to do.

But after walking through this, I can tell you something:

You don’t need the perfect words.

Some of the most meaningful messages we have received were incredibly simple:

“I’m thinking about you.”

“We love you.”

“Matthew won’t be forgotten.”

“He was an amazing person.”

“I prayed for you today.”

Or sometimes just:

❤️(emoji)

That’s it.

You don’t have to quote Scripture.

You don’t have to write a book.

You don’t have to find some magical combination of words that suddenly makes grief disappear.

There aren’t any.

In fact, sometimes people send “eight pages” of Bible verses and thoughts—and please understand, we appreciate the love behind every one of those messages—but when you’re deep in grief, sometimes you simply don’t have the mental capacity to read, comprehend and digest that much information.

A few words can mean everything.

And please remember this:

Grief does not end after a few days, a few weeks or even a few months.

Grief is a lengthy process.

It can continue for years, and it may look different from one day to the next. Sometimes a person may seem like they are doing well, and then a song, a date, a smell, a place or a memory can bring the grief rushing back.

The funeral ends.

The visitors eventually go home.

The messages become less frequent.

But the grief does not simply disappear.

So don’t forget your friend or loved one who is grieving.

They will need your support for a very long time.

Remember them on birthdays, anniversaries, holidays and ordinary days when there is no special reason at all. Keep checking in. Keep saying their loved one’s name. Keep reminding them that they are not alone.

Now I’m going to get on my soapbox for a minute.

One of the most common things people say when someone is grieving is:

“Let me know if you need anything.”

It’s a wonderful sentiment. People mean well when they say it.

But I’ve learned something through this experience.

When you’re grieving, you often don’t know what you need.

And there is a reason for that.

Grief and trauma can create cognitive overload. High stress can cause severe brain fog, memory problems and difficulty concentrating on routine tasks or work.

You will forget what someone just told you.

You will walk into a room and not remember why you went there. Over and Over again!

You may be unable to make simple decisions, organize your thoughts or figure out what needs to happen next.

So when someone says, “Let me know if you need anything,” they may genuinely mean it—but the grieving person may not have the mental capacity to identify a need, explain it, remember to ask for help or even respond.

And even if you do know what you need, asking for help can be incredibly difficult.

I’m normally the person helping somebody else. I’m not very good at being the one who receives the help.

What I’ve learned from so many incredible people during Matthew’s illness and since his death is that sometimes the greatest gift is simply showing up and doing something.

People brought dinner.

People brought a small gifts.

Someone brought trash bags.

Someone brought toilet paper.

People took care of things that weren’t glamorous and certainly weren’t things we would have thought to ask for.

They just saw a need and acted.

And nine times out of ten, it was something I wouldn’t have done for myself or even realized we needed.

But it was perfect.

A perfect example happened the night of Matthew’s Celebration of Life.

After everything that Tuesday—the emotions, the people, the stories, the tears, the hugs and celebrating Matthew—the absolute last thing on our minds was, “What are we going to eat for dinner?”

Truthfully, we hadn’t even thought about eating.

Then there was a simple knock on the door.

Dinner had been delivered.

Nobody called and asked, “What do you want for dinner?”

Nobody asked us to make a decision.

Nobody said, “Let me know if you need something.”

They simply saw a need and served.

For that moment, we didn't have to think. We didn't have to make another decision. We didn't have to figure out what was for dinner.

We just ate.

And it was perfect.

Almost as good as the margaritas!

That may sound like a small thing, but that's exactly my point.

To the person who did it, it may have simply been dinner.

To us, on that particular night, it was one less thing we had to think about.

That is what showing up looks like.

Those of you who know me know that I love going to the grocery store.

I’ll will go to three or four grocery stores a week, just because and maybe a trip to Costco & Sams for good measure.

H-E-B for this.

Whole Foods for that.

Central Market for something else.

Kroger for another thing.

Probably not Walmart—but you never know.

You get the picture.

The other night Jennifer and I were driving home and passed Kroger. I looked at her and said:

“Can you believe I haven’t been to the grocery store in almost seven weeks?”

I used to go three or four times a week.

Why hadn’t I gone?

Because people showed up.

They acted.

And once again, my mind goes back to James.

Their faith had works.

Now, I realize not everyone is financially or physically able to bring meals, buy groceries or do something tangible.

And that’s okay.

Because you can still do something.

Send the text.

“I love you.”

“Thinking about you today.”

“I was thinking about Matthew today and remembered that time “he hit three home runs in one game”. What an amazing day.” Or Whatever resonates with you about the memory of your loved one.

That’s enough.

Something that has been difficult for Macie and me—and I’ll leave Jennifer out of this because she’s probably too nice to say it—is hearing people tell us afterward:

“I didn’t reach out because I didn’t know what to say.”

Some of those people now feel terrible.

I don’t want them to feel terrible.

I want all of us to learn from it.

The next time someone you know loses a parent, spouse, child, sibling, friend, coworker or teammate, don’t worry about having the right words.

There are no right words.

Just do something.

Send the text.

Make the call.

Drop off the meal.

Leave something at the door.

Send the ❤️ (emoji).

Tell them a story about the person they lost.

Tell them you haven’t forgotten the amazing life of that person.

And don’t be afraid that mentioning their loved one’s name will somehow remind them that the person died.

Trust me.

We haven’t forgotten.

Hearing their name reminds us that you haven’t forgotten either.

And that matters.

There’s another side to this that God has been teaching me.

God doesn’t just call us to serve.

Sometimes He calls us to receive.

James 1:17 says, “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above.”

That has been one of the hardest lessons for me.

Receiving grace.

Receiving someone’s generosity.

Receiving help.

Receiving a meal.

Receiving something I could probably have done myself under normal circumstances.

Eventually, I learned to simply say:

Thank you.

There were days when we didn’t know what we were going to eat for dinner.

And then dinner showed up.

So we ate.

And sometimes we had more food than we could possibly eat.

So you know what we did?

We gave it to somebody else who needed it.

The blessing somebody gave us became a blessing for another family.

Think about that for a second.

Even in our suffering, God gave us an opportunity to serve somebody else.

That’s how God’s love works.

One person’s act of kindness doesn’t have to stop with the person who receives it.

It can keep moving.

So when someone you care about is grieving, please don’t put the responsibility on them to figure out what you should do.

They probably don’t know.

They’re not thinking four, five, six or ten steps ahead.

Sometimes they’re just trying to make it through that day.

Sometimes they’re just trying to make it through that hour.

Sometimes they’re simply trying to remember what they were doing five minutes ago.

So use a little deductive reasoning.

“I bet they could use dinner.”

“I bet their yard needs mowing.” Please don’t mow my yard… you know I am picky LOL, you get the idea. Many others would love it.

“I bet they haven’t thought about groceries.”

“I bet they’d love hearing this story about their son.”

Or simply:

“I bet they need to know somebody is thinking about them today.”

Trust that instinct.

Show up.

And don’t just show up once. Grief is not over when the funeral is over, when the flowers are gone or when everyone else has returned to normal life. Continue to check in, continue to remember and continue to offer your presence.

And if all you can give them is two words, give them two words:

Love you.

Because I’ve learned something through losing Matthew that I hope none of us forget:

You don’t have to have the right words to love someone well.

Sometimes love is a meal.

Sometimes love is a case of toilet paper.

Sometimes love is remembering a story.

Sometimes love is sitting quietly beside someone when neither of you knows what to say.

Sometimes love is checking in months or years later and saying, “I was thinking about you today.”

And sometimes love is nothing more than a ❤️ on their phone at exactly the moment they needed to see it.

Faith isn’t always some grand gesture.

Sometimes faith simply shows up.

Sometimes faith keeps showing up long after the loss.

And maybe that’s exactly what James was trying to teach us all along.

I’m sharing this because I want Matthew’s life and death to continue making a difference. I want what we have experienced to help someone else feel less afraid, less uncertain and less alone when they are faced with loss.

This is not about blame.

It is about love.

It is about learning.

It is about serving one another.

It is about breaking the chain of fear that keeps good people from doing something because they’re afraid of doing the wrong thing.

Don't wait for the perfect words.

Don't wait until you know exactly what to do.

Love them. Serve them. Show up.

It is about honoring God with the way we care for people—not only in the first days of their grief, but in the months and years that follow.

GOD > ∧∨