i'm tired of the internet

not every mention of their person is the saddest part of their day. sometimes saying "this was their favorite song" "oh they would have LOVED this" "God I wish they could hear the conversation happening at the next table" "I wish they were here" is lighthearted. the mention of their person can be joyful. or melancholic. or, of course, sad. it can be all of those things at once. but no matter, react to the sentiments as just another piece of the conversation.

you don't need to drop a 55 pound weight onto the conversation and stare at us in pity or silently stare in a combination of confusion and discomfort and sadness.

it's okay. we know they're dead. you acknowledging that in an equal state of nonchalantness will not shock us to death, it's not tasteless or crude. it's a relief. our dead people are still parts of our lives just like anything else, and giving your loved ones the space and comfort and safety to talk about their person is huge.

you can always respond by asking to hear more, by mimicking their tone. your friend laughs and says "they would have LOVED this", take it as a chance to learn why! was their favorite color yellow? did they love kitschy little throw pillows? did they utterly DESPISE kitschy throw pillows? are they referencing a specific story?

if they see someone that looks like their person and get a little sad, ask what reminds them of their person. what was their favorite feature of their person? does it make them mostly sad to see someone who looks like their person? did it make them feel a little bit happy for a moment?

we want to talk about our deceased loved ones. we yearn to mention people who shaped us. the way our society has conditioned us to behave around grief, to respond to the grieving, and to grieve ourselves is so backwards and void of empathy, so we often don't say what we wish we could say. (bell hooks has a wonderful chapter on this in all about love, new visions (ch 11))

"When the fire died at last and the ground became cool enough to walk upon, Ser Jorah Mormont found her amidst the ashes, surrounded by blackened logs and bits of glowing ember and the burnt bones of man and woman and stallion. She was naked, covered with soot, her clothes turned to ash, her beautiful hair all crisped away... yet she was unhurt.

The cream-and-gold dragon was suckling at her left breast, the green-and-bronze at the right. Her arms cradled them close. The black-and-scarlet beast was draped across her shoulders, its long sinuous neck coiled under her chin. When it saw Jorah, it raised its head and looked at him with eyes as red as coals.

As Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth and nostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices to the call, translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons."

QUEEN RHAENYRA TARGARYEN AND VERMITHOR "THE BRONZE FURY"