This Cornerstone Magazine article with excepts from Henri Nouwen's book - "Out of Solitude", contains some excellent ideas on offering a compassionate presence to another who is grieving.
We've all been in situations where we wonder what we can possibly do for a person who has suffered a loss.
There may not be anything we can do, but the greatest gift we have to offer is sometimes to be our self. Not to do for, but to be with. Like many things in life sometimes 90 percent of the solution is just showing up.
To be our self. To offer a quiet, calm, listening, caring presence.
To offer our companionship, neither in front of nor behind, but beside - in step - in touch. A connection.
Not offering solutions or answers where none exist; but rather to be with another human being who is suffering.
Sharing the greatest gift we have for another - listening to them. Not pretend listening or partial listening while thinking of our response but rather seeing, feeling and hearing - with empathy and compassion - truly listening to them.
Helping them not by our answers, autobiographical responses, judging, sage advice or intelligence, but by allowing them a space to either articulate where they are or just to be silent and know a fellow human being is with them.
Putting aside our wants and fears, quieting our constant internal chatter for a moment allowing us to focus, look, see and listen
from our heart.
An excerpt from the article -
"Still, when we honestly ask ourselves which persons in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not-knowing, not-curing, not-healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is the friend who cares.
You might remember moments in which you were called to be with a friend who had lost a wife or husband, child or parent. What can you say, do, or propose at such a moment? There is a strong inclination to say: “Don’t cry; the one you loved is in the hands of God.” “Don’t be sad because there are so many good things left worth living for.” But are we ready to really experience our powerlessness in the face of death and say: “I do not understand. I do not know what to do but I am here with you.” Are we willing to not run away from the pain, to not get busy when there is nothing to do and instead stand rather in the face of death together with those who grieve? . . . "