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The elevator pitch for Scarlett Johansson’s feature directorial debut, Eleanor the Great, could be: a woman in her 90s pretends to be a Holocaust survivor. Crazy, huh? The film, though, is really about friendship. And loss. And the grief that follows the death of a very close friend.
This kind of grief is not widely recognized in society; not officially, anyway. Your workplace bereavement-leave policy no doubt recognizes the loss of a first-degree relative: a parent, spouse, sibling, even an in-law. But a friend?
In the film, out this weekend, Eleanor and Bessie are roommates who sleep in the same room, side by side, in twin beds. They shop together, walk together and sip tea in the middle of the night together when Bessie has Nazi nightmares.
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While watching the film, I realized that if a character like Bessie were to lose their Eleanor in real life, she would be considered just a friend to Bessie. “Just.” No sitting shiva, perhaps no mention in an obituary, no bereavement day off work.
No doubt many humane employers would offer time off, on a case-by-case basis, but the grieving friend might not feel comfortable asking, or even feel that it might be warranted.
This, as I recently learned, has a name. “Disenfranchised grief” was coined by renowned bereavement expert Kenneth Doka to refer to a loss for which grief is natural, but not socially sanctioned, depriving the mourner the same “permission” to grieve as they would a family member. The mourner might not feel entitled to this grief. They might even feel guilty for feeling it.
Dr. Doka called it “a loss that’s not openly acknowledged, socially mourned or publicly supported,” as NPR reported in the COVID-19 era, when too many people were losing friends.
There are other gutting losses that may fall into this category – a pet, an ex, a next-door neighbour. You might be at their side at their midnight deathbed, and then have to go to work the next day. Nobody’s bringing any casseroles to your door.
Crazy, huh?
A 2019 Australian study showed serious negative consequences following the death of a close friend, lasting as long as four years. “Non-kin grief may not be openly acknowledged or expressed, and the psychological or physical impacts of the grief may be regarded as illegitimate,” it stated. “Therefore, the impact of bereavement of a friend may be trivialized.”
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For many of us, friends transcend community; they are family. They may know things about us that no family member ever will, or might ever accept. They understand us. They choose us and we choose them. Nothing forces us to keep the relationship going – no blood ties, no piece of paper. And yet when we lose a friend, are we just expected to carry on?
When one of my closest friends died from breast cancer at the unjust age of 40, I picked myself up after receiving the phone call and went to work, where I co-hosted a lighthearted radio show maybe three hours later. I’m sure if I had asked, I would have received the day off; my employer would have figured something out, and probably wouldn’t have docked me a vacation day. The point is, I didn’t feel entitled to ask.
I know now that I should have asked. But I believe there should be more widespread acknowledgement that makes it feel okay to ask.
There is a plethora of popular culture built around deep friendships. On TV they include The Golden Girls, Dying for Sex, Sex and the City and, yes, Friends.
Jeff Hiller, left, and Bridget Everett in Somebody Somewhere.HBO
Actor Jeff Hiller recently scored an Emmy Award for playing Joel, best friend to Sam (Bridget Everett) on Somebody Somewhere. I watched the first season on a flight and in its final episode, when Sam sings to Joel, “You brought me home,” I silently bawled, trying to disappear into my hoodie so as not to alarm my fellow passengers.
Ms. Everett was a guest on the Modern Love podcast, on an episode titled “Bridget Everett Says a Best Friend Can Be Your Greatest Love.”
“It’s a real primary thing for Sam; like, her friends are her people,” she said. “It’s not like she’s looking for romantic love. She’s looking for her person.”
Ms. Everett then read an essay by American author Victor Lodato called “When Your Greatest Romance is a Friendship,” charting his unexpected and extremely close friendship with a woman in her 80s, when he was in his 40s. The essay moves toward an inevitable ending – and a revelation.
“Some of the greatest romances of my life have been friendships,” Mr. Lodato writes. “And these friendships have been, in many ways, more mysterious than erotic love: more subtle, less selfish, more attuned to kindness.”
Treasure your friends. And if (knock on wood, spit three times) you lose one, take it seriously. And I’m sorry. The loss is as big as it feels.