One of the difficult truths for the nonbereaved parent to accept is that a dead child not only should ~ but must be discussed. The most essential ingredient, in fact, in surviving well ~ besides facing reality ~ is to speak of the dead child unashamedly. Most people with whom you speak say it eases the problem for them, they do not find it awkward.

Another aspect of this difficult social problem is when you realize that many of your friends have children about the same age as the child you lost. It is very hard to have to ask for the first time how their little girl or boy is doing in school or on a ball team. It is a hurdle that you will have to overcome in order to retain normalcy in any relationship that matters to you.

A friend of Lyn's remembers what a help it was when she took the initiative and asked about other people's children. "The whole question of my own kids was almost embarrassing," he said. "Here I was the father of a healthy boy just starting on a bowling team. I was afraid, when we saw you, that I would burst out about how well he was doing. After all, I didn't want to make you feel worse by rubbing your nose in my child's progress. It was a great relief to me when you asked us, in the restaurant one Saturday night, how Kenny was doing. It seemed to free something in our relationship." Lyn still remembers being asked that question. Lyn recalls what a conscious effort it took to appear interested when she really wasn't at the time. Actually, the only reason she asked was to accomplish what it obviously did. She put a dear friend at his ease and removed a barrier that could have divided a close relationship.

It seems impossible to me to understand the cruelty of friends and family who desert parents at such a time. But in my research I found countless couples who had horror stories to relate, such as a brother, once close, who stopped calling his sister shortly after her child died, or friends who were never heard from again after the funeral.

As bad as the problem is for parents whose children died of normal diseases such as cancer or heart difficulties, the social hang up of the mother or father whose offspring has killed himself is almost beyond any imaginable depth. These people suffer not only guilt and loneliness; they all too often suffer from ostracism.

"One of the worst things that ever happened since Alan shot himself," said one father, who has since begun drinking very heavily, "is the way my former friends cannot look me in the eye. It's as if one of us is harboring a guilty secret that we cannot share. I sometimes almost get the feeling these people look at us as if we were murderers. My wife and I don't like to see them anymore. It hurts too much."

Perhaps the beginnings of this type of alienation lie in the awkwardness of not knowing what to say. This discomfort can create a million excuses for a friend or relative not to call a bereaved parent. One day falls hard upon another, and suddenly the friend looks around and a month has gone by without making that difficult phone call. Now, with the time lapse, along with the awkwardness comes the need for apology, and once again the evasion "too busy" to make that call takes hold. Soon, enough time has elapsed to make the problem so embarrassing that it's simply easier to forget the whole thing. I believe that unfair as it may seem, the burden for sustaining relationships rests with the bereaved parents. At a time when it is most difficult to do, they are placed in the position of making that first call, extending that first invitation. Let me urge you, also, while making that call, not to wreck the entire mood of reconciliation by peevishness.

"How come you haven't called?" "Where have you been?" "What could be new after my tragedy?"

It would not be unnatural to think these sentiments, but to voice them? I would suggest not. You may end up with just someone upon whom you vented anger, rather than a friend. Instead strike a tone of friendship. Entend a friendly hand. People do want to help. They just need to be shown how. Any number of people have told me parents ultimately benefit who are willing to make the first move, either in talking about their child, asking about someone else's, or dialing the phone. By taking that first step, the danger is averted of the awkward pause that could last a lifetime.

Psychiatrist Elliot Luby said he cannot emphasize strongly enough the need for people to stand by bereaved parents and yet, in his experience, most couples are abandoned. "That is almost the worst part of the whole problem," he said. "In the grieving process, everything depends on the sources of support. When people are there, compassionate and accepting people, it sometimes can reduce the intensity of grief."

Speaking about a dead child can sometimes lead to the strangest conversations. Not long ago, I visited a woman whose fifty-five-year-old son had died of a coronary. He was married and the father of three children. As it happens, I knew her son well. During the course of the visit, the woman began talking about someone and described his virtues. She said he never gambled, never drank, and was the only man she knew who never swore. Not being in the room when the conversation began, it took me several minutes to realize she was speaking of her son, my dead friend. She had managed to make an idol of a perfectly normal descent sort of guy who was a good friend, mixed a great cocktail, and could tell a good off-color story. I didn't argue with the woman. There was no point. But I felt somehow that Scott's mother was doubled cheated. Not only was her son dead. She no longer knew him as well. By not remembering the real, living man, his mother could not pay him the greatest respect of all ~ that of truthful remembrance. I believe that, years later, you are left with something more tangible ~ the memory of a real person ~ than are parents who totally renovate their child's character after death.

Another step in maintaining relationships by properly communicating is to admit you need help and comfort. One mother, a very kind and compassionate elderly lady, often went to funerals for close friends and offered to help bereaved relations in any way she could. "I would tell people all they had to do was call. I would be there for them. I could never understand it, but the calls just did not come. About a year ago, I telephoned a widowed friend and asked how things were going. She said things were fine and, even though I did not believe her, I felt I could push her no farther."

When Jenny died and people first called, Lyn replied with the same trite answer her friends used when asked how things were. She would say everything is just great. Wonderful, in fact. "Lyn realized something was wrong when people gradually stopped calling. Then, it came to her, she was falling into the same trap and setting up the same roadblocks with people that her own friends had created with her." "The next time a friend called, Lyn gritted her teeth and told the truth. She said she felt terrible. She leveled with the woman and told her that she needed her help and companionship. She asked her to please come to dinner." Lyn's friend thanked her for telling her how she felt and said she was grateful that Lyn had told her how to help. Lyn has never fallened into that 'feeling wonderful' trap again."

Perhaps the fundamental lesson in this is that people are basically decent. After all, it is most difficult to live with oneself knowing you have deserted a bereaved family. But, as in many human endeavors, people need guidance. They need to be shown how. The responsibility for maintaining social relationships often comes to rest with the bereaved. They are the ones who must set the tone and pace for social relationships. If they don't they may find that no one will.

Contact your friends. Ask how family members are. Put people at their ease by speaking freely. Don't be dishonest and play "feeling wonderful" when you don't mean it. Invite someone over for coffee. Or suggest meeting at a restaurant for a meal. Sometimes being in a public place can help you gain control of your emotions, thereby making a more pleasurable social contact. Don't forget to maintain a sense of balance. You should not be sentimental; neither do you have to be merry. Be you, but with this added insight: consider their well intentioned awkwardness.

It is entirely possible ~ if not probable ~ that your first act of initiative may fail. In fact, you may fall flat on your face. But the second time you take the initiative will be easier until eventually you have mastered the art of communicating although bereaved.