The case of John Apter, the former chair of the Police Federation of England and Wales, serves as a stark example of how deeply words can wound, especially when directed at someone navigating the raw terrain of grief. Apter’s gross misconduct - he made sexualised remarks about Lissie Harper, widow of PC Andrew Harper - was a fundamental betrayal of decency and respect. Just months after her husband’s brutal killing, Apter suggested he’d like to “comfort” Lissie in his hotel room, reducing her unimaginable pain to a throwaway line.
Grief is a uniquely isolating and deeply personal experience, demanding care, patience and above all, respect. Apter’s failure wasn't just a lack of professionalism. He chose to ignore the human being behind the tragedy and reduced Lissie Harper to a sexual object. For Lissie, Apter’s comments must cut deep. He trivialised her grief.
This case is a stark reminder that impact matters more than intent. When my Mum was diagnosed with inoperable terminal cancer, an in-law commented, “I think you’ve all done all you’re grieving already.” My Mum hadn’t even died when this comment was made. On face value the remark wasn’t meant to wound, but it did. It was crass and dismissive. It ignored the complex and harrowing reality of anticipatory grief, which is just as valid and consuming as grief after death. In trying to downplay the pain, the comment belittled the emotional challenges our family was facing, implying that grief follows a neat, linear path, when in truth, it does anything but.
Both Apter’s remarks and my in-law’s comment reveal a critical truth about grief: it demands sensitivity, not simplification. Even well meaning words can carry the sting of misunderstanding. In Apter’s case, his words crossed a boundary into something far darker, rooted in predatory sexism and misogyny, but the lesson remains the same. No matter the intention behind a remark, its consequences can be devastating.
Grief strips us down to our most vulnerable selves. In those moments, we don’t need someone to tidy away the messiness, we need people to recognise the magnitude of what we’re feeling, even if they don’t fully understand it. Grief can’t be managed with empty platitudes or dismissive jokes. It is an all-consuming, deeply individual process, and to disregard that adds insult to injury.
Words matter, and in moments of mourning, the stakes are so much higher. Whether it’s a public figure making an inappropriate remark or a family member offering a flippant comment, the harm left behind can last long after the words themselves are spoken. Intent might provide context, but it can’t erase the hurt once it’s taken root.
Bereaved people don’t need explanations or justifications for carelessness—they need respect, tenderness and an acknowledgement of their pain. Anything less is a failure of compassion, and when it comes to grief, compassion is what sustains when nothing else can.