In a sense, it doesn’t matter whether one kind of loss could be considered worse than another. Individual reactions vary so much that a death that crushes one survivor might practically be shrugged off by someone else. And it can be a little offensive when anyone suggests, as they do from time to time, that their loss is more significant or painful than your own. So this is a sensitive topic and perhaps shouldn’t even be talked about.

In another sense, it matters a lot and very much deserves to be talked about. Not infrequently it occurs to me that, in losing my 16-year-old only son Brady to suicide in October 2016 and being the one to find and try to revive him, I have had the worst possible grief experience. This does not help my frame of mind. When that thought starts running in my head, the grief settles in so heavily that I feel as if I’m carrying an elephant. My head sags and my shoulders droop. I can barely lift my feet to take a step.

When I start doing that, I have learned to stop it. I remind myself that other survivors have shared with me arguably worse grief stories, including multiple losses and witnessed suicides. Then I feel the weight lifting. I don’t think it’s good for me to think that I have it worse than anybody. So as I travel this bereavement journey, I generally avoid comparing losses or, if I do, I remind myself that I am probably not the world’s unluckiest man.

I don’t think it’s good for me to think that I have it worse than anybody.

Still, my attention was grabbed when I read a research paper and saw this sentence: “The largest emotional losses are from the death of a spouse; the second-worst in severity are the losses from the death of a child; the third-worst is the death of a parent.” Until that moment, I had assumed that losing a child is harder than losing a spouse. I was intrigued and somewhat annoyed and read further.

Possibly The Worst Title Ever

The paper has the bizarre-sounding title, “Death, Happiness, and the Calculation of Compensatory Damages.” (This could almost be the punch line for a joke about ridiculous scientific research projects.) Its central topic is the legal question of how large a financial settlement survivors should get for a wrongful death. So it makes sense it would compare the impact of various kinds of losses. (I’m not interested in their financial calculations so I skimmed over those and won’t attempt to discuss them here.)

The two British researchers used data from the British Household Panel Survey. This national survey quizzed 10,000 adults every fall from 1991 to 2008. People who took part were, among other things, asked to fill out the General Health Questionnaire. This is a 12-item survey that is often used to assess someone’s psychological well-being. The questions are:

Have you recently:

  1. Been able to concentrate on whatever you are doing?
  2. Lost much sleep over worry?
  3. Felt that you are playing a useful part in things?
  4. Felt capable of making decisions about things?
  5. Felt constantly under strain?
  6. Felt you could not overcome your difficulties?
  7. Been able to enjoy your normal day-to-day activities?
  8. Been able to face up to your problems?
  9. Been feeling unhappy and depressed?
  10. Been losing confidence in yourself?
  11. Been thinking of yourself as a worthless person?
  12. Been feeling reasonably happy all things considered?

People answer on a four-point scale indicating how often they felt that way in comparison to their usual state of mind. A typical mentally healthy person will answer “Rather more than usual” or “Much more than usual” to no more than one or two questions and “Not at all” or “No more than usual” to the rest.

In a sample of 10,000 people over a period of years, inevitably a number are going to lose loved ones. This study had data on more than 2,000 deaths. By comparing pre-loss GHQ scores of people who would later lose loved ones to their post-loss GHQ scores, researchers can get an idea of the effect the losses had on survivors’ mental health.

Losing A Partner May Be Hardest to Take

“Bereavement is painful,” the researchers drily note. Indeed, the psychological distress scores of people who lost children more than doubled from 1.3 before the loss to 3.5 the year the child died. A score of 1 or 2 is normal for people who aren’t under stress. A 12 indicates clinical depression. So the higher score suggests noticeable but perhaps not extreme stress.

Spouse-childAs the chart above shows, people who lost spouses saw GHQ scores more than double, from just below 3 to 6.3 the year of the loss. People who lost parents experienced more moderate increases in distress than those who lost children or those who lost parents.Spouse child 3 yrResearchers also studied the impact of the death of a partner or a child using an extended time frame. For this part of the study they looked at psychological distress scores for the year after the loss as well as the year before the loss and the year of the loss.

While losing a spouse had a bigger initial impact, surviving partners recovered more quickly than surviving parents

As shown in Figure 2 above, this seemed to indicate that, while losing a spouse had a bigger initial impact, surviving partners recovered more quickly than surviving parents After a year, surviving partners had GHQ scores only slightly higher than pre-loss. Surviving parents were not much better the year after the loss than the year of the loss.

Puzzling Findings On Sibling and Parent Loss

In another refinement, the researchers compared how survivors adapted to loss of a mother, father, sibling and friend over three consecutive years. Two things struck me about this finding.

Mother-father-sibling-friend

First, as Figure 3 above shows, siblings, alone among all groups studied, felt worse the year after the loss than the year of the loss. That seemed odd. Why only siblings? (At dinner the other night I mentioned this to my younger daughter. She suggested that siblings lose more when one of them dies, because they can otherwise expect a brother or sister to be around for many years after their parents are gone. Could be.)

Siblings, alone among all groups studied, felt worse the year after the loss than the year of the loss.

Second, survivors who lost a friend or parent had recovered to pre-loss levels of distress by the year after the loss. While that is not terribly surprising — the traditional year of mourning appears to be about the right length of time in many cases — apparently after a year those who lost mothers actually felt better than they had before the death. That one is a puzzle. Perhaps the mothers were chronically ill and that caused more distress than their actual deaths?

Apparently, when this objective measure is applied to a large sample of people, losing a partner may be harder than losing a child, at least according to this study.

Unfortunately, the researchers had no information on circumstances of the losses, such as ages of those who died, so that isn’t considered. But, apparently, when this objective measure is applied to a large sample of people, losing a partner may be harder than losing a child, at least according to this study.

Where Does This Leave Us?

I’m not sure how to take this. It is counter-intuitive, and I tend to like ideas that challenge my preconceived notions. But I’m having trouble letting go of the idea that losing a child is harder than losing a partner.

In my personal experience, for instance, my girlfriend of 10 years, whom I expected to be with forever, sent me a Dear John e-mail five months after Brady died. After some initial upset, that loss was barely a blip compared to the blow of losing my son. When my father died in 2000, next to losing Brady it was minor.

Of course, I care about my father and my girlfriend (and of course she didn’t die), but in the context of losing Brady, those losses amounted to not much more than inconveniences. (To be honest, I think every problem I’ve ever had rolled into one is not much more than an annoyance compared to losing my son.)

There’s no benefit to thinking that I inhabit the worst of all possible worlds.

Maybe it’s just my individual circumstance. Or maybe I was wrong about the relative impact of losing a child or a partner. But at least I have a good argument to use on myself next time I start feeling sorry for myself. It is not good to be the father of a dead son, no doubt. But it could be worse, and there’s no benefit to thinking that I inhabit the worst of all possible worlds. Perhaps that will help me get through a few sinking spells without descending quite so low. If so, this exercise will have been worth it.

I emphatically am not trying to tell anybody that their loss is harder or easier to take than someone else’s.

I emphatically am not trying to tell anybody that their loss is harder or easier to take than someone else’s. I am reporting on my experience of looking at some evidence comparing the typical impact of different losses. Your mileage may vary, and this study is far from the final word. As many studies do, it suggests answers to some questions while raising additional questions. Like, how would someone feel better after their mother dies? I completely do not get that.

Thanks for reading, liking, commenting, sharing and following. Whether you’re feeling sorry for yourself or grateful that things weren’t worse than they turned out to be, I am sorry for your loss. And I hope you find some peace today.