If I got ten grieving parents in a room we could write down fifty things we wish people would stop saying in about five minutes.
Most of the time folks do it out of ignorance or in a desperate attempt to sound compassionate or to change the subject (death is very uncomfortable) or simply because they can’t just shut their mouths and offer silent companionship.
And most of the time, I and other bereaved parents just smile and nod and add one more encounter to a long list of unhelpful moments when we have to be the bigger person and take the blow without wincing.
But there is one common phrase that I think needs attention
I admit I’m full of words. When my mama came to pick me up when her best friend was babysitting for awhile, she said, “You can’t have her yet, she’s telling me all kinds of things!”
More than once my mouth got me in trouble.
It’s still the source of most of my problems.
But for a time after Dominic left I found that the only words I could muster beyond what was absolutely necessary were written in my journal. Because the words I wanted to say were bitter and harsh and tasted bad as they came up my throat and threatened to roll off my tongue.
Honesty is not inherently rude. Even when what’s spoken doesn’t sit well with the person listening to it.
It took awhile for me to figure that out on this journey.
Tone matters, facial expression matters, words matter. But I don’t have to stuff truth in service to the comfort of others.
❤ Melanie
I never ask anyone to adjust the thermostat in a car or at home unless I’m suffocating or shivering.
It’s a point of personal pride that I can tolerate a wider range of temperatures than most people.
And for awhile, I carried that same prideful disdain for “weaker folks” into my grief journey.
I was determined to endure whatever blows might come my way via comments, behavior, subtle and not-so-subtle attempts by others to circumscribe, dictate or otherwise influence my loss experience. I didn’t want to abandon pride in my own strength by admitting I wasn’t as strong as I wished I could be.
Then one day I realized that being honest was not the same as being rude. Telling the truth was not the same as acting selfishly.
Our family has yet to settle into a routine for the holidays even six years after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven. I’m always looking for new ideas that might be suitable.
Pinterest just doesn’t cater to those trying to craft celebrations that make space for grief and empty chairs.
So here are a few ideas I’ve compiled from other bereaved parents. I hope those who read this post will add their own.
Maybe one or more will help your family make a plan.
❤ Melanie
It cannot be overstated:holidays are extremely hard after loss. Every family gathering highlights the hole where my son SHOULD be, but ISN’T.
There is no “right way” or “wrong way” to handle the holidays after losing a child.
For many, there is only survival-especially the very first year.
When I wrote it, I was writing my personal feelings after a couple of years trying to fumble through holidays with friends and family. It was an honest expression of how hard it was and continues to be to navigate the stress-filled season of Thanksgiving through New Year’s Day.
I’m not sure I’ve grown any more skillful in fitting all the pieces together-especially as our family grows and moves in different directions-but I continue striving to keep the lines of communication open and to try to acknowledge and accommodate everyone’s needs as best I can.
❤ Melanie
“I know it is hard. I know you don’t truly understand how I feel. You can’t. It wasn’t your child.
I know I may look and act like I’m “better”. I know that you would love for things to be like they were: BEFORE.But they aren’t.
I know my grief interferes with your plans. I know it is uncomfortable to make changes in traditions we have observed for years. But I can’t help it. I didn’t ask for this to be my life.
I know that every year I seem to need something different. I know that’s confusing and may be frustrating. But I’m working this out as I go. I didn’t get a “how to” manual when I buried my son. It’s new for me every year too.“
Every day in this space I write primarily for the bereaved.
I try to share honestly and openly so others know they are not alone, are not crazy and are absolutely within the normal parameters of life after loss.
But I also write for those who are yet not bereaved but walking alongside a broken heart.
As many of us in the child loss community say, “you don’t know what you don’t know”.True enough. Yet it IS possible to help those who have not experienced our pain gain at least a bit of insight into what it feels like.
So I continue to frame my journey in terms and examples that might help them understand.
Just last night someone close to me had an “Aha!” moment.
Over a decade into my struggle with autoimmune disease I was finally able to offer an analogy that rang true with them and connected the pain and difficulty of my daily experience to something they understood and had felt for themselves.
It was glorious!
In a flash, this person recognized (at least on some level) what a struggle it is for me to do things like turn a door knob, hold a coffee cup, lift anything over a pound in weight, button my shirt, brush my teeth or drive a car.
All things they take for granted and do without thinking about them or making a plan.
So I keep sharing and hoping that one or more of the analogies I use for the ongoing struggle of life after child loss will ring true with friends and family and they will have an “aha” moment too.
I send every post out on the worldwide web with a prayer that somehow, somewhere a heart is strengthened, eyes are opened and life might be made just a tiny bit easier for those of us bearing this burden.
Life after loss is hard.
Nothing is as easy or simple as it once was.
I don’t want pity!
But I welcome compassion, understanding and grace. ❤
***What analogies have you used to help friends and family understand this journey? Please share them!!***
thelifeididntchoose 