Without funerals, it’s more important than ever to send sympathy cards | Opinion
When we can’t say a formal goodbye to show our loved ones we care, then we must write — and more than an email or text.
I grew up near the business of death. In a small Missouri town, my uncle runs the funeral homes established by his great grandfather more than 100 years ago. Because of this, my family processes news about dying matter-of-factly, not sensationally.
When visiting my hometown of St. Louis, 40 miles away from the funeral business, sometimes I’ll find my mom reading local obituaries with her morning coffee. She corresponds with those in her life who are grieving as familiarly as I scroll through my newsfeed and emoji-react to friends' Instagram stories. Her ability to gracefully sympathize is a sort of super power. As the coronavirus pandemic’s death toll creeps steadily upward on our daily dashboards, it’s tragic math that some of us will lose neighbors, colleagues, friends, family members. Many, heartbreakingly, already have.
Difficult conversations are best had in person, but when physical gestures of support are prohibited, as they are now, we must adapt. When we can’t say a formal goodbye to show our loved ones we care, then we must write — and more than an email or text.
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If ever there was a time in American history for an ode to sympathy cards, it’s now. The United States Postal Service, an independent government agency, has and continues to operate during the pandemic, delivering messages of solace and hope to those suffering. Its fate is tenuous, though, with greater pressure than ever to privatize. Sending our sympathy with a stamp helps protect the future of mail and those its existence employs.
“If ever there was a time in American history for an ode to sympathy cards, it’s now.”
In the flimsy, contrived world of mass market greeting cards, it’s often the sympathy section that reigns tackiest. Shopping for sympathy cards means sifting through swooping fonts, saccharine sentiments, and generic florals.
I often felt that those cards didn’t represent me or the bereaved people I was writing to. That’s why three years ago I started a Philly-based greeting card company, with the talent of local illustrators who solved the problem of artless inventory, and a printer in Port Richmond who sourced silky and sturdy recycled card stock. I vowed that every card printed would be blank inside, with room for customization, just in case my sympathy doesn’t look like yours. (This past February, unaware of what turmoil March would bring, I sold Groundswell Greetings to a local small business, though I remain steadfast in my card philosophies.)
Sympathy cards can be intimidating. Here are some tips I’ve learned from the stationery industry and my family’s business experience.
Look for a simple, serene card that could stand the test of time on a refrigerator or in a desk-side drawer. Do you keep some of the favorite cards you’ve received? I do, and it’s usually for the message, rarely the design. I reread them when I’m sad or bored. Your recipient might, too.
Embrace cards that are blank inside. Whoever tells you otherwise, your handwriting is fine. It’s the thoughtful, unique expression of your putting ink to paper. Keep or make a stock pile of blank-inside cards to have at the ready.
Don’t worry about writing the wrong thing. There’s the bevy of common phrases to choose from (“Sorry for your loss,” “Sending my sincere condolences”), and they’re nice, but consider sharing a funny memory of the deceased, recalling what they meant to their near-and-dears, citing one of their lasting contributions — even appreciating their irksome quirks might prompt a knowing chuckle. No matter your association with religion or spirituality, surely we can agree that a life lived matters, and our work, play, and relationships will in some way endure beyond mortal years.
Mail the card two or three weeks after the funeral or memorial service. This is my widowed nana’s advice, who shared that after her overwhelming initial shock of losing a loved one, it was the surprise of reading personal, encouraging words that helped fill the subsequent void.
Send another card … or a few. Their mourning is constant, but the attention fades. Your presence in their mailbox is more than a pleasant distraction — it makes the day more bearable, perhaps even bright. You took the time to remember them; they are holding the proof.
We don’t know when the pandemic will end, or what new normal awaits us when it does. This feeling of helplessness is immeasurably frustrating, but finding small ways to comfort and cheer our people is an act of resilience — even if the closest we can get is through the mail.
Ali King is the founder of Groundswell Greetings. She currently oversees digital engagement at the Curtis Institute of Music.
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