The “Simple” Acts

Ways to support teens through grief

The memorial display in the library

It was about a month ago that I picked my youngest up after school. She appeared agitated and annoyed. When I asked what was wrong, she went off about how she didn’t want to do drama anymore. This appeared to come out of nowhere. I forced her to slow down and encouraged her to explain the reason why. She did a dance of many “I don’t knows” before I got to the true reason.

“Mom, I don’t know if I can go on stage. Alana won’t be in the audience.”

Her answer, which should have been the first thought in my head, shook me to my core. How does she step onto the same stage she watched her sister perform on for three years knowing that her big sister won’t be in the audience screaming and cheering her on? She realized that at some point she wouldn’t hear her sister yell her nickname and scream, like Alana often did for her little sister.

I told her to think about what was best for her. If she truly couldn’t do the play that was okay. If she wanted to do the play, then we would figure out a way to support her through it.

Then a moment happened. As it has many times over in the last six months. My youngest reached out to her sister’s friends. She let them know about the play and how it would mean a lot to her if they could come. The week of the dress rehearsal another round of texts went out to “the teens,” as they are affectionately called in our home. Then the day of the play came. Texts started to come through to Adam and I. Some of the teens were asking the time of the play. Others wondered if they could get a ride or help with the ticket cost. Adam and I did what we have always done, even before Alana passed. We stepped up and helped "the teens."

As the curtain opened, four teenagers sat next to me. I could see the stress, anxiety, and grief that coursed through them. The moments when tears threatened to come. Yet they sat there, by choice, for their friend’s little sister. They faced their own grief head on and put aside their pain for a moment in time to show love, compassion and support. My youngest took the stage and they cheered her on as her sister would’ve. They told her she was the best mime on stage. Afterwards, they went out to dinner with her and even had a sleep over.

It’s the day after the show and I am sitting upstairs listening to Alana’s friends and her sister laugh and tease each other. Part of me wants to cry because I don’t hear Alana’s voice mixed in with theirs. The other part of me is so incredibly thankful.

Hours before the show yesterday, I found myself at the high school. I had a meeting regarding a memorial dedication for Alana. As I walked into the library there was a display set up for her. Various pictures of her were posted around the display. The card from her celebration of life was tucked lovingly on a shelf. And a huge purple bow rested on top of the cabinet. Then sitting in front of it was a lone book. One about grief and teens.

All of these events left me pondering last night as I laid down for bed. I know the pain and grief that I face daily. I watch the pain and grief Adam and my youngest endure. What I don’t often see is the pain that Alana’s friends are enduring. I know it’s there. Their parents have told me the struggles their children are facing without their best friend. Each of the teens has opened up to at some point about how much they miss Alana.

My mind was swirling.

I wondered … how can I help these teens? They do so much for my youngest. What can I do to help them through this difficult time?

As is so often the case with grief, discussions about how to support teens through a loss doesn’t seem to be something our society is talking about. There is no protocol for schools to follow. No handbook to be given to parents.

So, how do I support these teens? What needs to be done to help them navigate through this pain without dimming their shine in the world?

 A Safe Space

As I pondered this, I remembered a discussion I had with my sister. She told me after the celebration of life and many times following it, how thankful she was that I kept my home open to Alana’s friends. When my sister was a teenager, newly graduated, one of her friends died in a car accident. She shared with me that on top of losing her friend, she felt like she lost her connection to his family along with her friend group. It made her journey feel lonely and isolating. A difficult, yet “simple” decision created a space for Alana’s friends to connect, feel supported and know they weren’t alone on this journey. Adam and I decided to keep our door open to them.

I am fully aware that for some parents this might be too difficult. That’s okay. There have been days when either Adam or I have had to step back because the sound of the teens in the basement without Alana is too much. The moments when we see how desperately they miss their friend shatters our hearts. The days when we have to tell them no because we are just not at a place where we can “entertain.”

The point is that Alana’s friends needed, and still need, a space. They need a place to connect with each other. Where they can talk, cry, tease and laugh. A space where they can casually talk about Alana without feeling forced to. A place where they aren’t judged for when they hit their darkest moments in their grief.

There was a moment last night when one of Alana’s friends asked to stop by their house on our way home so they could “get Alana.” (All of her closest friends got urn jewelry). Not a single person sitting at that McDonald's table treated that request as odd. Instead, they started to talk about how much their necklaces meant to them. A discussion unfolded around me where all of them took a moment to process the grief they were feeling. They supported each other and validated what the other was feeling.

That “simple” decision that Adam and I had made on that dreadful September day, was possibly one of the greatest gifts we could’ve given to Alana’s friends. In the last six months, there have been DND campaigns, pumpkin carving sessions, get togethers, and sleep overs. Some come by for dinner, others we take out to eat. When they decide to attend an event for either Alana or her sister, we help them get there and will help to cover any costs. I had no idea how powerful that decision would be for not just my youngest, but all of Alana’s friends.

Provide understanding and validation

The other thing I’ve noticed is that they need their grief validated. A few of them have told me that various people have said to them that they shouldn’t be grieving like they are because Alana “was just a friend.” Their grief has been invalidated because Alana is a friend and not a family member. If I’m honest, that concept blows my mind. I couldn’t fathom telling Alana that she shouldn’t grieve a friend if they had passed. Yet that statement has been made.

Some of those same friends have sat with me and opened up to me about their pain. I’ve learned through my own pain just how important it is to sit and listen. To love, support and understand unconditionally. Earlier today, one of Alana’s friends came over and sat down next to me. They handed me their phone, so I could listen to a song they wrote. I teasingly asked them if this was going to make me cry. They smiled and let out a small laugh then said “probably.” I made a joke about getting my tissue. Then I braced myself. I sat and listened to the second song they wrote for Alana. I witnessed their pain, sorrow, and longing through the lyrics they penned. The tears came. We held hands. When the song was done, I told them how beautiful it was and thanked them for sharing it. They mentioned to me that writing helps them when they are missing Alana the most.

All people process and express their grief differently. Some people need silence and space. Others need laughter and community. There are the talkers, the writers and the ones that cry. Each and every one of these patterns I have seen play out with all of Alana’s friends. Every time one of her friends approach me, I challenge myself to remember what they need may not be what I need and that is okay. It is more important that I just be present with them. As I so often need people to do with me.

The National Honor Society book drive box at the high school

Let them get involved

Lastly, I think that they might need ways to feel involved. So much that happens in a teen’s life is outside of their control. They live with all the expectations of their parents, teachers, coaches and any other adults involved in their life. So much of their lives are dictated to them.

During the memorial dedication meeting I mentioned earlier, the school staff I was meeting with expressed to me that she believes that people want to help but don’t know what to do. Again, my mind spun around this comment last night, I thought about how important and critical it has been that these teens had a space to “own” with their grief. I’m insanely grateful that the high school has supported this concept. Within 24 hours of Alana’s passing the dance team was organizing a fundraiser, the theme for the football game was changed, memorial decorations were put up in the hallway (and are still there). During the Homecoming football game, a bake sale was organized for our family. The marching band created a basket and donations for our family. All of this was student driven. A student is currently coordinating their National Honor Society project around a book drive for Alana, as Alana loved to read and write. Various classes are working together to create a memorial space in the library to remember Alana. All of this has allowed the students a way to coordinate, own and work through their grief together.

As for Alana’s friends, some of them came over to make picture boards for the celebration of life. Some of them wanted to speak or perform songs for her at the celebration. Adam and I agreed that the final song we played that day was the one that her friends had chosen. As we have worked to build the nonprofit and start to plan fundraisers, her friends have been welcome to provide their feedback or volunteer. There is already discussions underway that her friends will run the water station at a possible 5k or MC a talent show. When Adam and I make plans to provide donations to the school, through the nonprofit, the teens are notified and welcome to be present when it happens.

I don’t believe that the school, other parents, Adam or I thought anything deeper than it felt “right” to allow these things to play out. Yet, again, allowing these moments to happen. Supporting the thoughts and ideas that have come up.  Empowering them to get engaged. It probably is one of the best things that we could’ve done for the many teens that are grieving.

 My final thoughts

There are many days and moments when I feel so alone and locked in my own grief. It is incredibly easy to get caught in the belief that everyone else have moved on. It is easy to believe that the pain has ebbed for others while mine still flows. When the reality is, their journey through their grief and loss is still underway. Teens tend to be incredibly resilient. That doesn’t mean they don’t need support, guidance or permission from the adults around them.

I fully believe that the strength, courage and love Alana’s friends have bestowed on her sister is a huge reason why my youngest is managing her grief as well as she has. Whenever she misses her sister, she has five other “siblings” to call, hang out with, cheer her on, tease and get advice from. It would be so easy for me and anyone else to believe that these teens aren’t hurting as deeply as they are. The reality is that they are hurting. In ways that there are no words for. They miss their friend deeply. They miss their time with her. The way they joked around. The plans they had that will never happen. And they miss being able to get her advice (Alana was the “mother” of her friend group). That being said, maybe, they are able to be there for my youngest and each other because they were gifted a space to still connect and process their pain. They have adults willing to listen and validate their pain. And, they have been “allowed” to own their pain through being able to be involved. These three “simple” things have made a world of difference in their ability to process their loss. It is easy to overlook how deeply powerful a “simple” act can be in someone’s life, but I truly believe with all my heart it is the act of kindness, support and love that create the biggest ripples in others’ lives. At least it did for Alana and it does for her little sister.

A special thank you to " the teens” for supporting for Alana’s baby sister.

You have been her saving grace rather you realize it or not.