Hot Wings, Heavy Grief, and My Daughter’s Boyfriend’s Chest Puff
What Overeating at 10 P.M. Taught Me About Loss and Perspective
Here’s what eating chicken wings with my daughter’s boyfriend reminded me about grief.
We were out for appetizers a few months ago.
(Note: eating two pounds of wings at 10 p.m. when you’re 51 is not advisable.)
As we were walking out, with my stomach cursing me, I was looking around the restaurant.
I wondered if the younger people were in school, working, or both.
I wondered how they met each other and how long they’d been friends.
I saw some of the older people and wondered if this was their regular spot, a place where familiarity brought them some comfort and connection.
And I wondered when our server’s shift was over and how much she typically made in tips.
When we got outside, my daughter’s boyfriend puffed up his chest like only a 19-year-old guy can.
He went Full Peacock.
He said to my daughter, “Did you see all those guys looking at you?”
He’s a great guy and not at all possessive, lest I make him sound like a jerk.
I think they’re wonderful together.
But it reminded me of something about grief.
We’d just walked through the same restaurant and seen the same things.
We’d taken in the same raw data.
And yet we each interpreted what we saw and heard in completely different ways.
Neither of us was right or wrong. Those concepts don’t even apply.
My experience was as real to me as his was to him.
That’s how grief is.
Everyone around you is having their own unique experience all the time.
It can be so tempting to dismiss someone else’s grief because it doesn’t look like yours.
Or to try to fix them so they “get it right”.
Someone “breaks down” over a small reminder while you “keep it together.”
Someone seems to be "moving on" faster than you think they should.
Someone feels stuck in sadness long after you expected them to feel better.
Instead of judgment or trying to “fix” them, try empathy.
Be humble enough to realize that the way you grieve is just one way.
Be curious enough to ask, “What’s this been like for you?”
Be compassionate enough to say, “I can see why this hurts.”
Empathy isn’t agreeing. It’s not forcing someone to be “better.” And it’s definitely not fixing their grief.
It’s the simple gift of helping someone feel seen, heard, and understood.
Grief is isolating enough as it is.
Nothing breaks that loneliness faster than someone who tries to understand.
Not only does it feel better—you’ll be amazed at what you learn.
By the way, I’m going out with them again in a few weeks.
If I were a betting man, my money would be on me getting the wings again.
P.S. If you want to learn how to support an upset grieving person (or anyone who’s upset), click below to access my Emotional Validation Masterclass. I promise it’ll be the best 27 bucks you’ve ever spent.
And love one another ♥️