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D. None of the above

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Photo from Pixabay

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Aliens are all the rage these days.

People are excited about the declassified documents that seem to suggest a technology that exceeds American understanding and know-how.

Of course, one possible explanation is that other people built them. With billions of intelligent humans scattered around the planet, it’s possible that we have fallen a few steps behind the most advanced surveillance technology of the world, making these sudden flying objects that disappear an enormous mystery, even as our fellow humans elsewhere are snickering.

While that only feeds into the advanced state of American paranoia, it doesn’t preclude the possibility that these technological mysteries are human-generated. Then again, maybe someone has built a time machine and is tooling around in a craft from future humans. If that’s the case, why didn’t our descendants do more to fix historical tragedies, global warming or other human errors?

Another tantalizing option exists: what if they are, indeed, alien? What if advanced creatures from another planet, galaxy, solar system, or celestial neighborhood, have come into our airspace to spy on us, learn our secrets and decide whether to stick their appendages out at us so we can meet them and become acquaintances or allies?

I was thinking about what I might say to an alien scout gathering information to decide whether to bring all manner of other creatures to our planet to share a drink, catch a baseball game, and argue the merits of communism versus capitalism.

I imagine a conversation might go something like this:

Alien: So, tell me about yourself?

Me: Well, uh, I’m human.

Alien: What does that mean?

Me: I guess it means I can talk to you and that, unlike other animals on this planet, I have imagined what this conversation might be like for much of my life.

Alien: How do you know other creatures didn’t imagine it?

Me: Maybe they did, but they seem kind of busy trying to avoid getting eaten.

Alien: That doesn’t mean they couldn’t imagine it.

Me: I suppose. So, where are you from?

Alien: Somewhere else.

Me: Wow, helpful. Can you tell me about yourself?

Alien: Yes, but I made a long trip and I’d like to hear about you, first. Do you mind?

Me: Now that you put it that way, I wouldn’t want to be considered intergalactically rude. So, what else can I tell you?

Alien: What’s the best and worst part of humanity?

Me: It’s hard to come up with one of each. Our ability to help each other is near the top of the list. Oh, as is our ability to imagine something, like traveling to the moon or Mars, and then making it happen. Music and art are also pretty amazing.

Alien: What about the worst?

Me: Destruction? Hatred? Violence? Excluding people? Preying on people’s weaknesses? Using our trauma to traumatize other people?

Alien: You sound complicated. Can we trust you?

Me: We don’t trust each other, so, going by that, I’d say, caveat emptor.

Alien: What does that mean?

Me: It means, “let the buyer beware.”

Alien: Hmm. So, who is this near your leg?

Me: That’s the family dog.

Alien barks at the dog. The dog barks back. The alien nods.

Alien: We’ve decided to go in a different direction.

Me: Wait, where are you taking my dog?

Alien: He’s not yours, and he’s chosen to join us.

Me: Can I come?

Alien laughs and flies off, buzzing close by a jet, the sound of the family pet laugh-barking in the skies.

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Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

You don’t have to look hard to see them alongside the road. They aren’t even always on the sharpest curves or the steepest hills.

There, along the median or over there, by the right side of the road, are the homemade crucifixes, the flowers, the stuffed animals and the personal effects of people who never made it wherever they were going, their lives ending on or near asphalt as other vehicles collided with theirs.

My family recently took a road trip, where we easily could have become another statistic, and our family or friends could have just as easily been visiting the spot where it ended for one, two, three or all four of us.

I was driving during a recent weekend, excited by the open road and eager to remove the family from the neighborhood patterns that have defined our lives for well over a year.

My wife navigated, checked her email, exchanged texts with friends, and regularly asked if I wanted her to drive, if I needed a drink, or if I was hungry.

Our son was napping behind me, his head tilted back and to the left. Our daughter was immersed in virtual interactions with her friends, head down, a Mona Lisa smile plastered on her face.

With my peripheral vision, I traced the flow of the taller and shorter trees that passed by, the familiarity of the Texas, Indiana, Ohio and California license plates on nearby cars and trucks, and the click, click, click of the road that churned beneath our wheels.

Up ahead, the driver of one of the thousands of SUVs that dot the American landscape hit his brakes. My wife instantly saw it and closed her eyes. Unlike me, she typically hits her brakes as soon as she sees the red lights at the back of the car in front of her.

I immediately take my foot off the accelerator, where it hovers over the brake. As we rapidly approached the car in front of us, I applied the brake with some force, coming to an almost complete stop just feet before reaching the bumper.

I exhaled in relief, while immediately hitting the hazards. I wanted the cars behind me to know I wasn’t merely touching my brakes, but that I, and all the other cars around me, were stopping.

For a moment, I chatted with my wife. I have no idea what she or I was saying, when I noticed a truck coming towards at an incredible rate of speed.

“Hold on! This isn’t good!” I shouted, waking my son and drawing my daughter away from her phone.

I reflexively tapped my accelerator and drove my car directly towards the nearly stopped SUV on my right side. The truck, meanwhile, dove into the thin shoulder.

As it flew by, the truck somehow missed us completely. The car next to me honked in frustration, as the driver, who must have moved to her right, glared. I wanted to tell her that a truck might have crushed our family if the driver and I hadn’t each made last second adjustments.

Her lane kept moving, and she likely didn’t give my sudden maneuver another thought. With my hands in a vice grip on the wheel and my breathing rapid, I stared at the truck in front of me. I wasn’t sure whether I would have liked to punch or hug the driver, who didn’t notice me slowing down, see my hazard lights or leave himself enough room to stop. At the same time, though, he — and it could have been a woman, because I never saw the driver — turned onto the small shoulder, finding just enough space to squeeze past me without destroying my car, my family or my life.

For the next several minutes, I struggled to drive, as the image of the speeding truck with nowhere to go in my rear view mirror replayed itself in my head.

“Are you okay? Do you need me to drive?” my wife asked anxiously.

My family and I were okay. We weren’t a part of a sad story that ended on an American highway. Skid marks left on the road weren’t a marker for the final seconds of our lives.

We are grateful for the combination of factors that turned a close call into a near miss. Perhaps this happened for a reason beyond giving us more opportunities to extend the journeys of our lives. Perhaps one of the purposes is to provide a warning to everyone else to remain vigilant, to brake early and to stay sharp and focused on the roads.

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Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

I’m not much of a planner. I put together professional plans, creating a schedule for stories I’d like to research and write, and I coordinate calls and meetings all week, but I don’t tend to go through the calendar to figure out when to visit socially with friends and family or to attend cultural events.

This summer, however, I’m incredibly grateful for the opportunity to look at the calendar and consider a wide range of activities that would have been difficult or impossible a year ago.

I’m delighted to plan to visit with my extended family. I haven’t seen my brothers in over 19 months. I have visited with them on the phone and zoom, but that’s not nearly the same thing as seeing them in person, throwing a ball with them, flying a kite off the beach or just sitting on the couch and having a free-flowing conversation.

I am also delighted to consider planning a trip to museums. On one of our first dates, my wife and I went to the Metropolitan Museum, where we wandered slowly through the exhibits, continuing to build on our relationship even as we studied the artifacts left behind by the generations that fell in love and married hundreds of years earlier. I recall wandering through those wide hallways close to a quarter of a century ago, listening to my wife’s stories and delighting in laughter that, even now, provides validation and meaning to each moment.

I am hoping to travel to Washington, D.C., this summer, to see the air and space museum. Each of the planes hovers overhead, and the space capsules from the early days of the NASA program are inspirational, giving me a chance to picture the world from a different vantage point, seeing the shimmering blue waters that cover the Earth.

I have watched planes fly overhead throughout the pandemic, but I haven’t ventured to the airport or onto a plane. I’m looking forward to the opportunity that flight provides to turn trips that would take over 10 hours into one- or two-hour flights.

Visiting family, friends and strangers in different areas, eating foods that are different and unfamiliar and experiencing life outside of the small circles in which we’ve restricted ourselves opens up the possibilities for the summer and beyond.

My son can prepare for the start of college and my daughter for a return to college with the hope that they can enjoy more of the academic, social, extracurricular and community service experiences that they imagined when they envisioned these years of growth, development and, hopefully, independence.

I spoke with a scientist recently who told me that the inspiration for a work he’d just completed came from a conversation he had during a conference a few years ago. He had been sitting in an auditorium, listening to a speech, when he and a stranger exchanged thoughts about the implications of the work. From that interaction, he started a new project that became a productive and central focus of his research efforts. As soon as conferences are back on the calendar, he hopes to return to the road, where such unexpected and unplanned conversations can trigger inspiration.

To be sure, I recognize that the realities of travel and planning don’t always dovetail with the hopes and expectations. I recently visited with our extended community at a social gathering, where I stood downwind of someone who wore so much cologne that I couldn’t taste the food I was eating.

I’m sure there’ll also be lines, traffic jams and literal and figurative turbulence as I leave our home cocoon. 

Still, this summer, I’ll be grateful for the opportunity to do so much, including and especially, the chance to plan.

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Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

A few weeks ago, a Chicago White Sox player named Yermin Mercedes did what he was paid to do, hitting a ball far. His manager Tony La Russa was furious because his player broke an unwritten rule, swinging at a 3-0 pitch from an infielder for the Minnesota Twins when his team was already winning by 11 runs.

The next day, La Russa seemed fine with a Minnesota pitcher throwing a pitch behind the knees of Mercedes as punishment for a violation of that unwritten rule.

So, what are other possible random unwritten rules regarding life sportsmanship and what should the potential punishments be for violating those rules?

For starters, if you’ve lost a lot of weight, you don’t need to ask other people who clearly haven’t lost any weight, or perhaps have put on pandemic pounds, how they’re doing on their diet or if they’ve lost weight. They haven’t lost any weight. We know it, they know and you know it. You don’t need to contrast your success with their failure. The punishment for that kind of infraction should be that you have to eat an entire box of donuts or cookies in under a minute.

If you rescued a dog from the vet or the pound or from a box beneath a bridge in the middle of an urban war zone, you don’t need to ask where I got my overpriced and poorly trained dog. We get it: you did something great rescuing a dog, while those of us with designer dogs are struggling to get them to be quiet while we repeat the few answers we get right to the questions on “Jeopardy!” The punishment for such self-righteous dog ownership should be that you have to pick up the designer dog’s poop for a day. If you’ve been over virtuous, you also might have to compliment him on the excellent quality of his droppings and send other people a TikTok of your poop flattery.

If your kid just won the chess championship, you don’t need to wear a different T-shirt each day of the week that captures the moment of her triumph. The punishment for over bragging is that you have to wear a tee shirt that says, “Your kid is just as amazing as mine and certainly has better parents.”

If you’re in first class on a plane and you board first to sit in your larger, more comfortable seat, you don’t have to look away every time someone might make eye contact or, worse, through your fellow passengers. You aren’t obligated to look at everyone, but you can make periodic eye contact or provide a nod of recognition to the plebeians from group six. The punishment for such above-it-all behavior should be that you have to echo everything the flight attendant says as others board the plane, offering a chipper “good morning” or “welcome aboard.”

Finally, if you’ve taken a spectacular vacation, you don’t need to share every detail of your trip, from the type of alcohol you drank to the sweet smell of the ocean breeze to the sight of a baby bird hatching just outside your window. If you overdo the unsolicited details, you’ll have to listen to every mundane detail of the person’s life who was home doing his or her job while you were relaxing. Afterwards, you’ll have to take a test on his story. If you fail, you have to listen to more details, until you can pass.

Maybe Mr. La Russa has a point: unwritten rules could be a way to enforce life sportsmanship outside the lines.

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METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

No one asked me to give a graduation speech. I haven’t done anything to merit standing in front of a group of people who have poured their blood, sweat and tears into their education and who are eager for a memorable, but short send-off. If they’re like me, some of them are probably trying not to sweat on or wrinkle their diploma while they wonder who came up with the idea of turning a piece of cardboard into a hat.

Anyway, I can’t help imagining what I might say to graduates who have ended one phase of their lives and are preparing for another.

I’d start by urging people not to get angry. Adults have mastered the fine art of being angry, yelling at each other, expressing outrage at the way other’s drive, think, live and date. We can and should learn to be as patient with others as we would like them to be with us. You know those student driver bumper stickers? Maybe we should treat each other as if we’re students of life. Let’s assume, for just a moment, that the worst of what you think someone else might have said to offend you or to cause you to gnash your teeth and pull at your hair isn’t actually what they intended.

After all, during the course of your education, you likely wrote or said something in class that your teacher might have misinterpreted or that a fellow student might have taken the wrong way. Perhaps an effective metaphor here might be to imagine that you are laying out the road ahead of you. Wouldn’t it be better to create streets with turnoffs and that allowed traffic in two ways, instead of building an express lane to the world of outrage, anger and disappointment?

I would also urge you, the current graduates and the keys to an effective future, to listen to ideas and opinions that don’t mirror your own. It’s easy to live in an echo chamber, where people say what you want to hear or what you already think, but you don’t learn and grow much listening to the same ideas and expressions endlessly.

Think about your audience when you share an insight, an idea or even a joke. Your boss is probably not the best person for bawdy humor or a racy compliment, no matter how cool he or she seems. While some story might be incredibly funny to people who were there with you at the time, were inebriated, or have concluded that you couldn’t possibly offend them no matter what you said, the same preconditions don’t exist for your boss or a potential customer. Humor is like flavors of food. What constitutes funny varies greatly, with some people nearly falling over in hysterics watching someone stumble on a sidewalk and others failing to see the amusement from physical humor.

Now, this one might be the toughest to hear, but, just because your parent said it or did it doesn’t mean it’s wrong. As graduates, you have likely decided to turn your parents’ words into the sounds of teachers from the Charlie Brown animated series. While that may help you create enough distance to leave the nest, you should remember that those flawed humans who have loved and supported you from your first steps until this one are on your side and are trying to help.

Finally, I’d like to suggest that what you do is almost always much more important than what you say. It’s easy to throw words and labels in the air — “I’m an environmentalist” or “I love animals” — but it’s much more important for you to turn those words and ideas into actions. Your best intentions are great, but your best actions are that much more valuable.

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METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

After setting the American record for the longest consecutive streak of 340 days away from Earth aboard the International Space Station, astronaut Scott Kelly returned and flopped into a pool.

While we all haven’t been away from Earth for any length of time, we have been living in a modified version of the normal we knew.

Like Kelly, we have spoken with our close friends and family through electronic devices that beam them onto a screen in front of us.

We have watched some of their drained faces, as they isolated themselves for a month or more, battling through the cough, fever and discomfort of COVID-19.

We have also seen our relatives at much greater than arm’s length as we celebrated landmark birthdays, the birth of new family members, and socially-distanced graduations and limited-attendance weddings.

In two weeks, I am anticipating the familiar feeling of diving into a familial swimming pool. That’s when I will see family members I haven’t seen in over a year.

We worked around our busy schedules not only to get vaccinated before we saw each other in real life, but also to do so long enough in advance of that meeting that our immune systems would have time to arm themselves against viral spike proteins.

This is the longest period my wife and I have ever been separated from our parents. We know how fortunate we are that our parents didn’t get sick.

We took nothing for granted, staying away from our parents and extended family. We might as well have been on the International Space Station, which was probably among the safest places people have ever lived, given the limited social contact in a controlled environment 254 miles from the nearest pool, family member or pizza restaurant.

We feel so much closer to a more familiar life than we have in over a year, as we anticipate seeing our parents and family members who can attend our son’s graduation. The planned visit has become a dominant and daily topic of conversation in our house. We are wondering what food and drink to serve, how to move everyone from nearby hotels to socially-distanced seating at graduation and what games to prepare in our backyard for our grown children to play with their cousins.

These questions and decisions might have seemed like a responsibility prior to the pandemic, as hosting anyone requires attention to detail and consideration for our guests. That responsibility has transformed into the kind of privilege we might have taken for granted in other years, before the pandemic disrupted family gatherings and turned the calendar into a reminder of delayed gratification of family gatherings.

While we will likely engage in the Texas two-step, trying to gauge how close we can get physically to each other, it’s easy to imagine that hugs, kisses and appreciative smiles will bubble up from the excitement of a backyard that has hosted more routine gatherings of birds, squirrels and chipmunks than of the people who stare at flickering screens in our home.

As we prepare to dive into our own family pools of support, affection and love, we are incredibly grateful to everyone who made such a return to normal possible, from those who explored the basic science that led to the vaccine, to those who developed and tested the vaccine, to those who treated family and friends, to those who stocked the shelves with the food and drinks we needed to take us from the uncertainty of the pandemic to the anticipation of a celebration. Absence made our hearts grow fonder for family and increased our appreciation for everyone who allowed us to reunite with the most important pieces of ourselves. In just a few weeks, we look forward to diving into a more familiar world.

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Photo from Pixabay

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

We live such a two-handed life these days. On the one hand, we are emerging from our pandemic shells. On the other, we don’t want to race out too quickly, undermining all the work we did to protect ourselves, our families and our school communities. To that end, I had a few topics on the two-handed nature of our lives:

The weather

On the one hand, it’s a relief that we can enjoy warmer weather. The summer is approaching. The calls from seagulls blend with the steady rhythm of water lapping up on the shores, urging the fortunate residents of Suffolk County to return to the peace and harmony of the water.

On the other hand, the temperature will undoubtedly climb into the hazy, hot and humid zone at some point. While the beaches are wonderful, we won’t all have time to stroll on a sandbar during the week.

Vaccinations

On the one hand, many people are getting vaccinated, increasing the likelihood that we’re taking an immunological stand against a deadly virus. With a greater percentage of the population inoculated, we stand a better chance of coming together, revisiting family and friends we’ve only seen on Zoom for over a year.

On the other hand, a subgroup of people are reluctant to take the vaccines, worried about side effects, the speed at which the vaccine was developed, and a host of other concerns. If enough of them don’t get vaccinated and/or if variants evade the vaccine, we may not be able to beat back this virus as quickly as we’d like.

Graduations

On the one hand, we are so incredibly proud that our children have made it through whatever stage concludes this year. We appreciate all they have done to get here and to become the incredible people they are.

On the other hand, wait, hello? How did the time go by so quickly? Did we prepare them for the real world? What is the real world? What does it mean to graduate into the second year of a pandemic and how can we prepare them for some of the unknowns and unknowables ahead? 

Politics

On the one hand, we can, potentially, talk about politics again without the echoes of personal animus reverberating from an angry White House. In theory, we can even agree to disagree or to consider compromise.

On the other hand, has the left become too powerful even as the right engages in party strife? Are calmer waters really around us, or is it a temporary reprieve until the tempest returns with the elections in 2022 and 2024?

Freedom

On the one hand, we are freer than we’ve been in over a year, to travel and visit family, to take our masks off outside and read people’s lips and study their smiles. We can even consider traveling outside the country.

On the other hand, after living with a fear of human contact, how much can we set aside our concerns about the public health dangers of interacting with other people? 

A return to offices

On the one hand, we have a chance to speak with each other in person, to share stories about our lives and our children and to discuss the surprising run of a Knicks team guaranteed to have a winning record this year.

On the other hand, we have to deal with traffic, parking spots, lines at lunch, and conversations that keep us from returning to the homes we couldn’t wait to leave.

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Photo by Pixabay

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

I have two friends whose sons are contemplating important choices. The first son, Matt, is trying to decide where to attend college.

He has gained admission to two elite schools. He can’t go wrong, as his parents have told him repeatedly, with either choice. Making this decision in a normal year would be hard. In a pandemic year, it’s almost impossible.

Matt can’t stay over at each school for a weekend or even attend a few classes. He can’t get much of a feeling for the “vibe” of the school because he can’t go into most of the buildings, even with a mask and with his letter of admission.

He can compare the national rankings from U.S. News and World Report, check college guides, talk with his guidance counselor, chat with graduates from his high school who attend each school and stroll around each campus. 

He can’t, however, fully try on the school, the way he might a tailored suit. Masks cover the faces of most of the people at each school, which makes it impossible to search for smiles on the faces of his potential future classmates.

He recently found himself leaning toward school A. The same day, his father spoke with a friend of his whose daughter was attending school B.

His father showed a picture of his friend’s daughter to Matt. The friend’s attractive daughter caused Matt to rethink his tentative decision.

That brings me to my other friend’s son, Eric. In his mid-20s, Eric has been caught in the same social world that has limited the options for everyone else.

Eric has been dating a woman for over two years and is considering the future of the relationship. He is not sure whether it’s the appropriate time to consider living together or getting married.

Eric is incredibly attached to his girlfriend, who has been one of the few people he sees regularly in real life during the pandemic.

Eric is not sure how long this altered reality, in which he works from home, speaks with family and friends virtually most of the time, and sees his girlfriend during his limited social hours, will last. In the meantime, he’d like something in his life to move forward.

Matt and Eric are weighing their options. For Matt, the choice of college may well come down to the last picture of another student he sees before he pushes a button.

Choosing a college can, and likely should, involve more significant factors. Then again, both of the colleges line up so well that he is likely to have a similar experience, albeit with different people around him, at each school.

Eric’s decision, however, isn’t so interchangeable. It involves a leap of faith that those of us who are married have made that relies on our own criteria. We can consult family, friends, and counselors as we weigh the pros and cons, but, ultimately, the responsibility and opportunity rest with us.

Coming up with his own questions and his own scale to evaluate the relationship is challenging, particularly when everything seems somewhere between good and great right now. He can’t possibly know what life will look like in two, five, 10 or 20 years from now.

I don’t envy either Matt or Eric as they contemplate these decisions. I do, however, agree with Matt’s parents: he can’t go wrong. For Eric, the decision has more significant longer-term ramifications and likely reflects variables that are difficult to imagine, particularly amid the uncertainty of the present.

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Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

About 16 years ago, I stood on the warning track and held my then one-year old son high in my arms above the blue, outfield fence in right center field of the old Yankee Stadium. We asked him to extend his glove as if he had leapt in the air to catch a home run.

Now, as he prepares to graduate from high school, my wife and I are pondering the end of an era filled with the numerous triumphs and challenges of youth sports.

In the last few weeks, while we have awaited the time outs, batting glove adjustments, pauses to look for signs from the catcher, and warm up tosses by each pitcher, we have been replaying our own montage from his years on a baseball field.

A few years after his Yankee Stadium debut, our son donned a baggy uniform that hung from his slight four-year old frame, standing with his left arm out, hoping to catch a ball I tossed with a slight arc toward him.

As the years advanced, his skill set and intensity for the game grew more rapidly than the developmental rules of the sport.

Station-to-station baseball was an abomination for him. When he was six, he caught a ball at shortstop, tagged the runner jogging from second and stepped on third for, what he considered, an unassisted triple play. He tossed the ball to the mound and jogged off the field, only to hear that everyone hadn’t batted so he had to stay on the field. I can still see the disappointed look on his face as all the runners moved to the next base.

Every moment wasn’t athletic heaven. He struggled to find the strike zone when he was pitching, swung and missed at pitches he knew he could hit and suffered through the inconsistent coaching and advice of everyone from his father to the parents of his teammates to semi-professionals eager to give back to the community.

Despite playing a game of failure, he continued to venture to fields close and far for another opportunity to compete, get some exercise and join teammates who have become long-time friends.

He learned how to pick up his friends after their moment in the spotlight didn’t end the way they wanted.

He took us to places way off a tour guide’s map of the eastern United States, as we drove from single traffic-light towns, with their one gas station and one diner, all the way up to Cooperstown.

We paced along frigid sidelines, hoping darkness or snow would grant us a reprieve from frozen bleachers and numb toes. We drove on roads in which the car thermometer read 113 degrees.

When he was old enough, he stood on a 90-foot diamond, looking from third to first as if he needed binoculars to see his teammate and a strong wind to help his throw reach the target.

As he got taller and stronger, the distance became more manageable. 

As parents, we made our share of errors on the sidelines and in the stands. While we told him it was the effort that mattered, not the result, he could see the joy in our faces after a win and the slumped shoulders after a tough loss.

While he’ll undoubtedly play other games down the road, that road won’t be as close as the ones we’ve traveled together. 

In a recent game, our son raced back and caught a ball against the wall, in a place on the field similar to the one where he extended his tiny glove at Yankee Stadium. We have shared such a long and inspired journey between those two mirrored moments.

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Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

After a year filled with various kinds of losses in 2020, many residents are coping with emotional burdens, including a calendar filled with anniversaries of painful memories.

Called the anniversary effect, people who have been grieving losses are approaching and, in some cases have passed, the one year anniversary of the death of a family member, the last time they saw a family member in person, or the day they dropped a friend who couldn’t breathe off at a hospital.

“It’s good to acknowledge an anniversary is coming up,” said Mandi Zucker, a licensed social worker with a certificate in grief recovery and in thanatology, which is the study of death and dying. Those who feel comfortable offering their support might want to ask someone who is grieving what they are doing, if they have any plans and how they might spend the day.

Zucker, who is the founder of Inner-Harbor, a center that helps young adults who are grieving, cautioned that reaching out to someone only as an anniversary approaches might backfire.

If the anniversary is the only time someone reaches out, “that might feel disingenuous,” Zucker cautioned. People who are grieving might wonder “where you’ve been for the past year, if you are reaching out as if the other 364 days have not been difficult.”

People eager to provide support to the many residents who are dealing with the symptoms and after effects of grief should first make sure they are comfortable enough with their own lives to respond to their family and friends.

“Don’t ask if you’re not ready to hear it,” Zucker suggested. “If you’re going through something yourself and you’re in a hurry and don’t have the time, don’t ask.”

Support often takes the form of listening, rather than interrupting or talking. Zucker suggests people encourage those who are grieving to speak, without interrupting them, sharing their own anecdotes or judging them.

While it might not sound like long, two minutes is considerably longer than most people can offer their thoughts and feelings, as others typically interrupt well before then.

“There is nothing we can say that’ll fix” grief, Zucker said. “Our goal to be supportive is to let them say more. When you’re talking with them, think about why you are talking.”

Commenting on someone’s experience, by acknowledging that their description sounds sad, scary or painful, gives them an opening to continue to share.

When someone says, “It’s been rough with COVID,” almost everyone can offer their own experiences with the virus, the losses of freedom, and opportunity that they’ve felt, she said. Even though a supporter might want to share their experience to relate, the person who is grieving is likely better off having an opening to continue to share and experience their feelings, Zucker suggested.

Sometimes, just allowing the person to tell you to go away gives people control over a life that seems out of control.

“You can give them space, [but] you can also send an email or text saying that you are still thinking about them,” Zucker said. “You don’t have to imply that they must respond.”

Zucker is a fan of handwritten notes, which provide a material connection when someone doesn’t feel like talking, but can see a physical reminder of their connection to others.

If people notice that someone who is grieving isn’t getting dressed or showering, they can comment on it, letting them “know you see them.”

Zucker has a contrary view to the comment people often receive about being strong. For her, people show strength by being vulnerable, not by masking their feelings.

People who might be experiencing grief might also need to diversify their sources of support and strength. That could include meditating or going for walks.

 

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