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“Grieving people don’t need wise words. They need lasagna.”
Death. It happens to all of us - and to everyone we love - but no one wants to talk about it.
In Western society, death is hidden away. Out of sight. Out of polite conversation. As a result, many of us simply don’t have the language to talk about it.
Several of my dear friends have recently had loved ones die, and I find myself not knowing what to say. And then the worse thing happens, I say nothing at all.
And then there is the practical side. We’ve built a formulaic approach to funerals - one that often strips away the person’s personality, their story, their identity. And compassionate leave. Three to five days to “get over” the death of someone you love. What utter BS.
Grief doesn’t work like that. It’s not linear, it’s not tidy, and it doesn’t fit into a policy.
Two weeks into 2026, the resolutions are in the bin, the fresh faced unstoppable January energy has faded, and you are now right back in the treadmill of life. Plodding on, doing the same old thing.
By whyarentwetalkingaboutthis“Grieving people don’t need wise words. They need lasagna.”
Death. It happens to all of us - and to everyone we love - but no one wants to talk about it.
In Western society, death is hidden away. Out of sight. Out of polite conversation. As a result, many of us simply don’t have the language to talk about it.
Several of my dear friends have recently had loved ones die, and I find myself not knowing what to say. And then the worse thing happens, I say nothing at all.
And then there is the practical side. We’ve built a formulaic approach to funerals - one that often strips away the person’s personality, their story, their identity. And compassionate leave. Three to five days to “get over” the death of someone you love. What utter BS.
Grief doesn’t work like that. It’s not linear, it’s not tidy, and it doesn’t fit into a policy.
Two weeks into 2026, the resolutions are in the bin, the fresh faced unstoppable January energy has faded, and you are now right back in the treadmill of life. Plodding on, doing the same old thing.