What to Say?

I often listen to NPR on the radio in my car as I am driving around. Today being the precursor to Valentine's Day, they broadcasted an interesting interview with a woman who writes greeting cards of a special nature. The lead in was about a Valentine's Day card she designed for people who had just started dating right before the holiday and felt awkward about whether or not to celebrate it with their new potential partner. But then the interviewer asked the card designer about how she got her start, and she talked about how she really began her career by trying to write better greeting cards for grief and illness. She shared that she'd battled cancer 15 years prior, and in doing so realized "get well" cards weren't necessarily appropriate for someone who might not get well. Nor did grief cards always adequately address a situation.

We, as a society, have such a difficult time addressing pain and suffering. When Hailey was first sick and too ill for me to hold much, I passed some of my time in the hospital reading a book called Love Warrior. It is an amazing story that changed my life and since I think it would do so many women good to read it for themselves, I don't want to give too much of it away. So I will just say that at one point in the story, the woman's family goes through something very hard. The woman grieves, and sometimes can't help but do it in front of the children, and the children notice. There is this scene in the book when they are all sitting at a table together, bonded in feeling sad and lost and confused. And as the children start to embrace the moment and ask questions, the mother gets up, starts back into the motion of every day life and sends her kids off to do trivial things. She then realizes what she has just done --- that without words, she had just shown her children to push their grief down or away instead of confronting it, as was their natural inclination. Instead of bonding together in that moment with honesty and questions and shared pain and love, she literally and figuratively separated each of them onto a solitary path. She regretted it and vowed to never do it again.

In losing our daughter, I am trying to embrace every emotion I experience. I know even the unpleasant ones serve a purpose, and so as I mentioned in my last post, I've had to give up all embarrassment about crying in front of others...that means in front of friends and even strangers. It is part of why I find this blog so helpful. Everyone's path through grief is different, but for me, the only way to survive my grief is to set it free. I am sharing it with my world, and my world continues to help lift me up in this time of sorrow. I am not ashamed. I don't regret. There are no thoughts or feelings I experience that need to be hidden away in darkness. I have loved. I have loved fiercely and I have lost and there is not shame in that.

But I think it is easier for me to own my grief than it is for others to watch and support me through it. My friends and family love me. It hurts them to see me suffer, and they don't want to hurt me any deeper if they should happen to say or do the wrong thing. I will never forget that in the final days of letting go, my mother told me that both my parents and my mother-in-law were crying so much not just for losing Hailey, but also for the pain they experienced at watching their adult children --- my husband and I --- suffer the loss of our child. Their hearts broke for us on more than one level. In addition to the grief we felt at losing Hailey, it also hurt them to see us hurt so badly, and to feel helpless to alleviate any of our pain.

If those closest to us struggle to find comfort for us during such a trial, it is all the more understandable that more casual acquaintances feel torn about whether or not to reach out or what to say. Every grieving parent is different, but for me, please know that I am just happy to hear from you. It doesn't matter how casually I once knew you or what you say. In fact, it really doesn't matter if I ever knew you at all or if you have just stumbled onto this blog. If I know your heart is in the right place and you are simply trying to show support, you cannot offend me or say the wrong thing, I promise.

Please don't feel afraid to tell me if you are pregnant, or complain about your pregnancy pains or your own kids. Just because I lost Hailey, I don't begrudge anyone their happiness or their own healthy children. Kids are one of life's greatest blessings and losing Hailey has only made me want more. That being said, I also know kids can provide some of life's greatest tests of patience and we are all in this together, so please know I don't ever think negatively of you if you complain about your kids' behavior. Bitterness ages us, both inside and out, and I am so thankful it is not a place my heart and mind ever tend to go. (I might also attribute that to being married to one of the happiest souls God ever created. My husband's good nature may be rubbing off on me!)

All of this being said, please know that I also don't always know what to say either. Mainly, to strangers. I'm not embarrassed to talk about Hailey with people who know us, but what do I say to strangers? For example, when the woman cutting my son's hair or the man ahead of us in the grocery line asks if I have other children. It would destroy my heart in an unhealthy way to deny that I had a daughter. But at the same time, I don't want to force my grief on to a stranger for the obligatory "Oh honey, I'm so sorry." I know most anyone would pity our suffering and loss - I don't need to force them to say it. Furthermore, I dislike the thought of trying to say something like "Yes, we have our son here and a daughter in Heaven." It just feels like finding a more cute way to say something ugly. So, I feel stuck between a rock and a hard place and haven't stumbled on any good solutions. If you have any, I'd be happy to hear them!

For now, thank you for continuing to stand by me on this journey. I know grief is scary and it can make those that love us feel helpless and that is such a torturous feeling to experience. So thank you for being brave enough to read this, to say hi to me, to send me cards and thoughtful packages and for asking me out to coffee and lunch. For treating me normally, too, and telling me about your own lives and pregnancies and other adventures. Grief is awkward but we don't have to hide from it. You and I are proof that we can embrace it and do it together and be so much better for it. With love.