This week we’ve buried a 16 year old that died unexpectedly due to a heart problem that the doctors determined was “under control”; we buried a 32 year old who lost her three year fight with brain cancer; and, we buried two 50 year olds, one of which died in a tragic car accident, the other dying of cancer.  All around Christmas.

Weeks like this make me stay up late at night.

They make me think about my own mortality.

Make me ask questions like, “Who will die first … my wife or me?”

Selfishly, I’d love to die first.  But, it’s a 50/50 chance and I could be the one who closes my wife’s eye lids as she passes.

Realizing that a dying person’s hearing is the last sense to go before death, I lay in bed and think about what I’d say to her in her dying moments … I think about what she’d need to hear from me:

“I love you and want you to go rest with Jesus.”

Or

“You’re free to go to Jesus … just know that I love you … wait for me!”

Or

“Everybody is here with you.  We all love you and we give you the freedom to go to Jesus.”

And all this assumes that I’ll have the privilege to be there when she dies.  What if she dies tragically, like some of these people I’m burying this week who died alone, suddenly, without the loving words of their family being whispered to them while they pass from this world to whatever comes next?

“Damn it”, I think to myself, “I’ve been lying awake for an hour thinking about something I have very little control over.”

But I try to control it.  I buy cars with a high safety rating.  I push my wife to go to the doctors over the smallest ailment.  I remind her to wear her seat belt … I often palpitate her breasts looking for those nightmarish lumps … and I make sure she eats well and buy her anything that promotes her health.  A juicer.  P90X.  A Xbox Kinect that we can exercise with.

At times I feel like a tyrant with a benevolent heart.

It’s weeks like this that I’m fearful of the unknown inevitability of the necessary part of life: death.

And this fear, this benevolent tyranny, the late nights of worrying, of thinking about the different possibilities, etc. are all the occupational hazards of this business.

It’s the death that surrounds me that inhibits my living.  That makes me the grumpy tyrant.  The sleepless tyrant.

But … it’s also the death that surrounds me that encourages my living.

It encourages me to say “I love you” as often as I can.

It encourages me to forgive and extend grace to those I don’t think deserve it.

It encourages me to pursue my passions … to find what I love doing … and do it with all my heart … knowing that I’ll be the best person I can be when I’m doing what I love.

It encourages me to smile.  To make friends.  To dance even though I’m bad at dancing.

It encourages me to work less, live with less money so that I can pour more of the most precious asset called “time” into my friends and family.

Facing the mortality of my own life and of those I love is a dark reality.

But it’s a dark reality that I’m learning to lighten with every second I choose to live life to the fullest, so that when that time comes — whenever it may be — I’ll look it in the face with no regrets.

Last week we had a funeral here at the funeral home. I was outside parking cars in the procession line, like I usually do, when a hot rod truck, with yellow racing stripes and a flare-side bed pulls up into the procession line. Our parking lot is laid out in such a manner that the only people who just “pull up” in the procession line are the one’s who have done it before. Although I didn’t recognize the truck, as soon as I saw it pull into the procession line without any need of my direction I was pretty sure I’d recognize the face of the driver being that he or she was probably a regular at the funeral home.

Sure enough. It was Donnie Smith. Donnie steps out of his truck, we shoot the bull for about 20 minutes, him telling me that his dad (Donnie Sr.) has been running low on health while he’s been running high on the idea that his dad might be needing us in the not too distant future.

There’s some people that I know only through funerals, and Donnie’s one of them. We buried his daughter a couple years back, and being that Donnie knows half the people in Chester County, he finds himself at funerals nearly as much as I do. In fact, at this particular funeral– after he was done talking with me — we put him to work as the door tender and he was greeting everybody that came through the front door with his genuine smile and warm presence.

Sunday came along and I see a note on the desk when I got into work: “Donnie Smith’s body is at the Hospital: not released.” I figured it was Donnie, Sr., being how Donnie Jr. was telling me about his dad being low and being unsure how much time he had left.

When we take a death call, we usually write the age of the deceased on the “first call” sheet and I saw in the upper right hand corner something that confused me: I saw “57.” I thought, “Donnie Sr.’s got to be in his 80s … that ’57′ must refer to something unrelated to the death call.”

I was wrong. The deceased at the Hospital was Donnie Jr., age 57.

No warning, no time for his family to say “good-bye”, no time to tie up loose ends. He told me how he was taking care of his dad, looking out for his dad. Nobody expected this. He didn’t expect it. In life, there are few things that are worse than a loved one leaving without saying “good-bye.”

Today we had the service. Probably close to 300 people came through the church during the viewing.

Before we began the service, we invited the family upfront to the casket to say their good-byes. At this point, I usually stand at the foot of the casket and observe what is often one of the harder moments for a bereaved family to handle: the last moment you have to touch, look at and speak to the deceased. After the family said their goodbyes on a day none of them expected to come so soon, we close the lid.

While this family was still having their final moments around the open casket, I noticed something right in front of me: sitting in the front pew of the church were two little girls –one a blond, the other a brunette (which is how I’ll distinguish them from here on out) — both about the age of seven. One was wearing what appeared to be her white Easter dress, her hair combed straight and her shinny white dress shoes fitted to feet that were dangling back and forth off the floor. Next to her was a little blond girl, dressed in black pants and a black shirt. I’m guessing they were Donnie’s granddaughters.

As most the adults were crying, the blond reached her arm across the back of the brunette and held her, at which point tears started to roll down the brunette’s porcelain face. They didn’t know I was watching them, and as far as I know I was the only one looking at them, as all the adults were huddled around the casket; but I was taking in this little slice of life like a parched plant taking in the sweetness of a desert rain.

The blond got up, walked back to the second pew and opened an old Phillies cigar box that she was using as a kind of purse. She opens the lid, reaches into the box, pulls out a tissue from the stack she had neatly placed in the box and rushes back over to where she had been sitting only seconds before, catching the tears as they run down the grief filled face of her friend.

At this point I got emotional. There’s a certain sense of hardness that creeps in after years in this business. And I’ll be the first to admit that few things bother me … few things touch me anymore. Death makes us into altogether different creatures … we can become like rough skinned rhinos who need something incredibly poignant to piece our outer shell.

I watched this compassion from this young girl for a couple minutes and then I saw my grandfather nod my direction, causing me to switch back to my job at hand, which by this time was the task of closing the lid.

Who taught this young child to do such a thing? Sure, she may have learned it from her mom, or maybe from Donnie himself, but nobody told this child to love. She just loved.

I sought the little blond out after the service was over and I asked her if she wanted to take any of the leftover flowers from her grandfather’s funeral back home with her. She pointed to the big casket spray. Being that the florists fill the back of the casket spray with water, I got it for her because it was probably nearly as heavy as she was, and I carried it to the bed of her dad’s truck. I guess when we witness the pure heart of children, it inspires and multiplies kindness.

Funerals sometimes put on display the worst of life and the best in humanity.

The funeral industry as we know it now in America allows for some of the greatest examples of both human graces and disgraces. The disgraces are all too publicized, and rightfully so. Most of us may remember the 334 bodies found in the back yard of the Tri-State Crematory in Georgia. Instead of fixing their retort, the crematory simply placed the bodies in the back yard to decompose and in place of the actual cremated remains, they gave the families boxes filled with wood chips, cement powder and wood ashes.

Many of us have seen the Nightline reports where funeral directors were caught bypassing laws on a regular basis, trying to scam money off of the elderly and acting more like greedy salesmen than compassionate professionals. Unfortunately, there are many funeral directors who are all too willing to use disadvantaged people to their own advantage. It’s ugly. It’s exploitation at its most base level. Yet, it happens. The unfortunate result of mixing grief clouded minds and greed poisoned hearts.

But, there are those of us who work hard, with undying honesty and integrity, sweating yellow tinged stains on our white collars. We withstand the sweat rolling down our backs into our cracks on the hot summer days as we stand in the caustic sun at the graveside. My great grandfather used to mow the funeral home yard in his shirt and tie. We’re probably still the only practitioners who ask for winter suits … they only make the medium grade suits today because white collar workers just aren’t out in the cold. Our backs are one of the main occupational hazards in this industry. And we get dirty too … crimson red on a bright white cotton shirt. Our collars may be white but our hearts are bleeding blue.

There are those funeral directors who see their profession as a calling; who find a sacredness to their calling, as though there was something spiritual about their work.  As though they are more so ministers than death merchants.  They are understanding, compassionate, hard-working, service oriented people who are more concerned about the richness of life in death then the wealth of their bank accounts. There are those who give their services for free to the less fortunate and downtrodden. Those of us who push families to buy caskets under their financial means instead of over. There are those of us who go above and beyond our contract expectations; who spend that extra five hours making the car accident victim viewable so that the family can see him one more time. There are those of us who offer more than just pre-need and at-need services … those of us who are there for the family months after the fact. There are those of us who understand that our integrity and honest direction can make Death a lot less hard for a whole lot of people.

The ancient and famed Egyptian embalmers understood that to be good death practitioners you also had to have religious and moral over and under tones in your life. And although we don’t divine like Egyptians, there are those of us who view this profession first as a practice of spirituality and secondly as a business; and, who do both with a strong work ethic. That’s the mold that I’m trying to fit into.  A blue, white and clerical collar.

****

The rear entrance of the funeral home.

The way we brought the bodies in to the morgue was through the alley (SEE PHOTO to the right). There were big white doors (with brass door knobs of course) that would open wide enough to bring the stretcher in. For everyone else on our street, it was their garage. So technically, the morgue was in the garage that was connected to the basement. After the person was embalmed and dressed, we had a motorized lift to take the dead people up from the basement to the first floor. My dad told me that before it was a lift, it was an electronic chair for my grandfather to go upstairs after he had a stroke. Once my dad built the morgue in the basement he took the chair off and replaced it with a piece of wood that he could lay the bodies on.

That lift was fun. When I was really little my dad would let me ride it. I’d sit on it and he would turn the switch on and I’d start to go up the stairs. There was a light bulb on the other side of the steps that I used to pretend was the moon and I was an astronaut on my way up to the moon. Normal kid stuff, if you consider riding a lift for dead bodies normal.

The front of the Donohue Funeral Home

That lift was later replaced with another one that was much more elaborate and cool. The new one actually came up through the floor of the parlor so that the body would already be in the casket and ready for their big day. The other lift couldn’t have held a casket, just a body. Once everything was in place; flowers, etc. no one would know that the lift was underneath the casket.

One time the body came up through the floor, was in the casket and everything seemed fine until the leg of the stand underneath the casket collapsed. We were upstairs watching TV when we heard a loud thud followed by my dad yelling a string a curse words. That may have been one of the few times I heard him say “fuck,” except he yelled it. The leg collapsed, the casket fell and the body rolled out. Luckily this didn’t happen during a funeral, it happened while he was setting up, but the family was due there soon so my dad was freaking out. Naturally, we ran downstairs and the dead lady was in the middle of the floor.

Dead bodies aren’t really fit for moving around once they’re in the casket because they’re so stiff. The body was facing down and when my dad rolled her over, her hands were still folded. Can you picture that? It was funny because people who are alive are just the opposite. My dad wasn’t able to laugh about that one right away, but we did.

Of course, my dad and brother got her back into the casket and everything was fine after she had a slight touch up. The family never knew that their loved one had been face down in the middle of the floor in her fancy dress a couple hours before that. And that’s for the best because there really isn’t room for a lot of error when it comes to a funeral. People are so distraught they probably wouldn’t find it funny to watch a dead body roll out of a casket.

After cleaning out the second floor of a tape player, two broken printers and a 30 pound monster monitor, I shifted my attention to the gallows of the basement … where ALL the old equipment goes to rest.  After finding an 18 year old Compact monitor, I found the old embalming machines.

In our morgue today rests a Porti-Boy, the pinnacle of modern embalming tech.

With the Porti-Boy, you can control the pressure of the embalming fluid and the rate of flow via the little knobs on the left and right of the console.

The end of the rubber tube is where the arterial tube is inserted.

Once the incision on the deceased is made and the desired artery is raised (usually the carotid), the arterial tube is placed into the artery, the Porti-Boy is turned on and the fluid pushes out the blood via an open vein, replacing the blood with embalming fluid.

That’s how it’s done today.

Our funeral business is over 160 years old.  And when we first started embalming, there was no electric Porti-Boy.  In fact, there was no morgue to house the lovely embalming machine.

We came to your house.  With our own equipment.  By the time my grandfather was a teen, this tradition of embalming at the deceased’s house had waned.  He remembers doing it a dozen times or so.

When I went down to the basement to clean out the old computers, I found the old embalming “machine” that my great grandfather would have used. It’s called an embalming gravity flask and stand … or something like that.  I’ve actually used this contraption once when we lost electricity during a storm.   And it worked.

You put the mixed embalming fluid in the flask, and raise the stand to find your desired pressure.  The higher the flask, the more pressure it produced to push the blood out and the fluid in.  My predecessors would lug this thing to the home of the deceased, put the body in the kitchen and try their best not to spill any blood.  How they kept the blood from spilling (without the use of an embalming table), I have no idea.

My grandfather recounts that he and his dad used to play “who spills the least blood droplets on the floor” game.  Apparently – per my grandfather’s selective memory – he would always win.

It should come as no surprise that caregivers, such as funeral directors, have a tendency to find themselves emotionally drained.  Funeral directors specifically can become so numbed by death that day to day pains seem less than difficult.  We just aren’t as empathetic towards anything less than death.

“You’re girlfriend dumped you?  Well, at least your dad didn’t die.  Buck up.”

“So what if your cat died.  Be thankful your husband is still alive.”

“I remember a couple who lost two children in the span of a few months and here you are complaining about your kids having the flu?”

Funeral directors are already numbed to pain.  Death gives us a high emotional pain tolerance.  Sure, as professionals in the public eye we are usually compassionate and caring, but in private we can be some of the most course and insensitive people you’ll ever meet.  When that death induced high pain tolerance is compounded by the depersonalization and lack of empathy that comes with emotional burnout, funeral directors can become monstrosities, scaring away friends, family and spouses with our utter lack of humanity.

For many who are working in a caregiving or stressful capacity, burnout can be resisted when one receives as much if not more from a job or profession as one puts into it.  For many, the positives of pay, work environment, work enjoyment and accomplishment can outweigh the negatives, and make one’s job at least tolerable.

The process of burnout looks like this.  You have a full cup.  The contents of the cup slowly evaporates and isn’t refilled.  Eventually, there’s nothing left.  You haven’t got back what you’ve put out. There’s nothing left to give.  You’re empty.

For me it’s …

The night calls.

The lack of sleep.

Getting chewed out by a pastor for something that isn’t my fault.

The 14 hour days.

The constant need for availability to the family.

Never being able to leave the phone.

Always having to be within a couple mile radius of the funeral home in case a call comes in.

Burying children.

Hearing nothing but negative stories.

And having to wrap yourself up in those stories so you can best serve the family.

Many funeral directors receive ample affirmation from families, and that affirmation can counteract all the negatives of this business.  “We couldn’t have done this without you.”  “You made this so much easier.”  “We love you … you’re like family.”

But when you work in a family business and your father and grandfather are the front men and you are the guy who does the stuff behind the scenes, there’s little affirmation.  And the cup gets drained, and drained and drained and drained.

You think about leaving your wife because you see just how awful you’ve become and you don’t want that person to be near the ones you love.  You draw near to God and He walks away from you.  There is no light at the end of this tunnel.  It’s just dark.  And then at some point, after you have a moment to breath and your body has somewhat recouped from the stress of a month of 12 hour days, you realize, “Hey, I’m burnt out.  I need help.”  And you hope that this realization comes before you’ve left your spouse, before you’ve rejected God, before you’ve committed acts of self-harm.

But for many, it’s too late.  Family shattered.  Body sick.

As a man, I was taught that we’re not supposed to be vulnerable.  “Stay strong”, we’re told, “hold yourself together.”  The assumption for many of us (women included) is that we will never run out.  That our cup has no bottom.  And that assumption is dangerously wrong.  In attempting to be godlike in our strength we become inhuman.

I need help.  This Friday I see my doctor.

I imagine that I’m not the only one who needs help.  Join with me, before it’s too late.

Here’s some legal advice from Farid, which is valuable for both the funeral consumer as well as the funeral director:

*****

Funeral home abuse is common in today in the U.S., however victims are often not aware of their rights. In fact much of the information published regarding funeral home negligence does not discuss the important issues. Family member of the deceased have a claim for the significant emotional and psychological distress caused by dealing with such an event. Court and juries also recognize the impact such actions can have on the families in an already difficult and stressful time. If you are the victim of a any type of funeral home abuse read the following article outlining your rights.

Funeral Home Negligence Liability

Negligence is defined as a sub-standard level of care. When the funeral home fails to render appropriate service you will have standing to bring a cause of action for negligence. In most cases proving negligence is not a challenging issue. However, proving whether you have standing to sue is. standing is required in any cause of action. It essentially means that you are in a position to bring forth a lawsuit for your injuries. The paragraph below outlines some of the basic elements of who can sue or who has standing to sue in funeral negligence cases.

A funeral home will be found negligent when they failed to conduct services for which they were contracted for. This can include improper burial in accordance with the family’s wishes, negligent embalmment and more. In certain cases funeral homes will mishandle a body entirely. This will include swapping or misplacing the deceased body entirely.

In cases where the wrong body was given for burial the family will be able to pursue a claim for their injuries. Injuries can include serious emotional distress, which can manifest into physical ailments.

If it can be proven that the actions of the funeral home were intentional, punitive damages are also possible. Intent can also be proven through gross negligence in certain circumstances. With intent punitive damages are possible. Punitive damages allow for enhanced damages and serve to punish the defendant for their actions. In certain cases punitive damages have been allowed.

Who Can Sue for Damages?

Courts permit recovery for funeral home negligence to a certain class of family members. Potential plaintiffs include those who the funeral home owe a duty to. This includes family members who had knowledge of the services being performed.

Section 7100 of the business and professions code specifically points out who is permitted to bring a cause of action for damages. According to this section the following parties are permitted to bring forth a cause of action, they include:

-        Surviving spouse;

-        Any surviving child or any children of the now deceased party;

-        Surviving parent or parents of the now deceased party;

-        Those permitted or names in the order of succession who are entitled to the estate of the deceased; or

-        Public administrators when the deceased has enough assets.

In certain cases courts have restricted the recovery to only those persons who can establish a direct link between the conduct and emotional distress. Courts have reasoned that in order to avoid the wholesale filing of lawsuits against funeral homes there must be a identified group of parties who can bring a cause of action.

It is also important to mention that there must be some type of emotional or physical manifestation with regards to your injuries. You must have some type of emotional, psychological or physical harm suffered as a result of the funeral home negligence. This injury can manifest itself in a number of different way. When considering to file a lawsuit you should speak with your attorney about any therapy or counseling you may required or are seeking.

Witnessing a deceased loved ones remains being mishandled is a traumatic experience for anyone. It can have long lasting impacts on the mental wellbeing of the witnessing party. Feelings of distress, anxiety, PTSD are all possible and can be amplified depending on your relationship with the deceased party.

While not all parties can move forward on a claim it is important to get your case evaluated. There are often many statutory filing timelines which need to be addressed.

Types of Funeral Abuse Cases

There are countless acts which can be considered funeral home abuse or neglect. This is not an entire list, if you feel that there was abuse, we strongly suggest you have your case evaluated.

This probably isn’t good for a funeral business.

-        Removal of bodily remain- this is considered a felony in certain jurisdictions

-        Sexual assault of the deceased

-        Negligent entrustment

-        Negligent embalmment

-        Mismatching or incorrectly burying the wrong body at a funeral

-        Loss of remains

-        Loss of the body at time of the funeral

-        Misconduct done in private by funeral home

-        Mishandling of remains

Each of these cases requires careful evaluation of the facts. If you are interested in bringing forth a lawsuit for injuries, it is important you communicate this intent with your family. Often times it will make sense to include all parties who were there are the service in any suit you decide to bring. These issues will be discussed with your attorney.

Steps to Take in Funeral Negligence Cases

If after reading this article you feel you may have a case, follow these important steps to prepare for your case.

First, prepare the names of all family members who may be interested in pursuing a case. Remember not all parties are permitted to file a lawsuit, but it is advisable that you collect the names of all persons present at the time of the service.

Second, make absolutely no statement to any insurance company. Often times these statements can be harmful to your claim. Even if the funeral home is offering a settlement, speak with an attorney. If you decide to settle make sure it is a viable offer. Insurance companies will often short change or low ball you with their offers.

Third, speak with a personal injury attorney regarding your case. Downtown L.A. Law Group offers free consultations on all cases without charge to you. If we decide to accept your case, it will be done on a contingency fee basis. Our no win no fee guarantee assure that unless we are successful you will owe absolutely nothing in fees.

*****

1. Law Firm Website: http://downtownlalaw.com/cemetery-fraud-attorney/

Farid Yaghoubtil is a senior partner at Downtown L.A. Law Group,  handling many types of litigation matters. He can be reached via e-mail at farid@downtownlalaw.com

Click on the photos to enlarge them.

If you know me, you know that I tend to be blunt.  Awkwardly so.

Being that blunt objects aren’t allowed at funerals, I’ve had to learn the art of professional speak.  Professional speak in the funeral business is the art of saying what you want to say without really saying it.

Situation Number 1:

Blunt Caleb:  “When we picked your dad up from the nursing home, he was looking all purple and reddish, but after we embalmed him, we were able to flush the discoloration out of his face.”

Professional speak, “Your dad looks great.”

Situation Number 2:

Blunt Caleb: “Do you want that beard shaved off your mom’s face?”

Professional speak Caleb ignores asking that question all together and just shaves mom’s face.

Americans — maybe even Westerns as a whole — are impatient.  We rarely have quiet.  The TV’s constantly on.  Our smart phones are ever at our side.   Ear buds in our ears.  Meditation is a foreign concept.  Prayer is avoidable at all costs.  And the patience learned in the silence is never attained.  And then comes death and the silence that comes with it.  The meditation.  The prayer.  The lack of words.  And when the results of grief work don’t come immediately, we become impatient and think, “Something is dreadfully wrong with me!”  And we’re right.  We usually conclude that we’re deeply depressed; the reality may simply be that we’re deeply and intrinsically impatient, unable to find the peace in the silence that comes from death.  Maybe we’re just as afraid of the silence as we are of death.

Death brings its own pace of life … its own schedule.  It’s never convenient.  But we want it to be.  We want to control it.  We want to put it on an itinerary that fits our fast paced, purpose driven lifestyles.

Perhaps that battle for control is nowhere more apparent than at a viewing, especially when the viewing line mimics the slow moving, long lines we see at a popular amusement park ride.

This past Saturday night, I stood there behind the register book, striking up conversation with people as they enter the sanctuary.  The viewing line snakes around the church, down the hall and into the basement as we try to extend it through the corridors of the church so as to keep the line from going out into the cold elements of a Pennsylvania winter.  The family of the deceased is taking their time, talking to each and every person who has come out on this chilly night.

“Other funeral directors stand by the family’s receiving line and tell them to keep their conversations short and simply”, one person stated.

“We don’t do that”, I said politely.

Another couple comes through the line and complains that they’ve been standing in line for half-an-hour AND by the look of things, they’ll probably be in line for another half-an-hour.  “Can’t you do anything?”  they beg.

I try to make a joke … I tell them that, like Disney World, we are going to create an express line, where you can bypass the crowd for a fee.  “That’s a great idea”, they say.  “We’d pay $50 to skip this line.”

After having this conversation about 10 times over the next hour, I’m getting tired of my joke and I’m getting tired of people complaining.

I want to grab their dress shirts, pull them nose to nose with my face and whisper, “This isn’t about you.”  But that would be blunt Caleb speaking and that Caleb isn’t allowed around death.

Perhaps the greatest loss that comes with the drone of our busy lives is that in losing silence, we’ve lost patience, and in losing patience we’ve become so inherently selfish that when we go to a funeral we forget that it’s not about us.

I stumbled across this list from Grief.com and thought they were very helpful.  Of course, there may be one or two pieces of advice that should be taken lightly.

The Worst Things to Say to Someone in Grief

1. At least she lived a long life, many people die young
2. He is in a better place
3. She brought this on herself
4. Edward Cullen does not exist and even if he did, he wouldn’t bite your loved one
5. There is a reason for everything
6. Aren’t you over him yet, he has been dead for awhile now
7. You can have another child still
8. She was such a good person God wanted her to be with him
9. I know how you feel
10. She did what she came here to do and it was her time to go
11. Be strong

The Best Things to Say to Someone in Grief

1. I am so sorry for your loss.
2. I wish I had the right words, just know I care.
3. I don’t know how you feel, but I am here to help in anyway I can.
4. You and your loved one will be in my thoughts and prayers.
5. I have a ton of bacon in my car with your name on it.
6. My favorite memory of your loved one is…
7. I am always just a phone call away
8. Give a hug instead of saying something
9. We all need help at times like this, I am here for you
10. I am usually up early or late, if you need anything
11. Saying nothing, just be with the person

Taken verbatim (the humorous suggestions are mine) from the incredibly helpful Grief.com

If you’d like to share your experiences with what should or shouldn’t be said, please feel free to share.  Or, if you agree or disagree with any of the above suggestions, let me know!