There are a few posts hovering right in front of me that have been waiting to be written. It’s hard to explain their presence, almost like they line up saying “Please write me next.” This particular one has begun to overwhelm me on a daily basis but I’ve fought putting my thoughts to words as there are so many writers that have already expressed this very topic much more eloquently than I will in a hurried session at my keyboard.
But if it’s in my head and on my heart, I’ve learned my path to peace is to release it and give it to you…
Maybe one of you needs to see it.
Maybe one of you is about to encounter someone experiencing profound loss and you’ll wish you knew the right thing to say.
A few weeks ago, I was at a beach event with my foster son when another mom sitting near me asked how many children I have. I gave my standard response: “One in heaven and two at home.” She took my open door and immediately shared that a dear friend had also lost her son and asked if I had any advice on how to be a good friend to her friend.
My advice? The answer was simple: “Say something. Say anything.”
If her friend is taking to social media to post about her child or anything relating to the loss of her child, do not scroll by, do not just click a like and move on. Take the three seconds to post a heart, write “Thinking of you” or “I can’t imagine” or “I love his smile in this photo” or “That’s a great shirt, love his style!” If she is posting about her child, she is trying to share him with the world, to remind people he’s still alive in her heart and her memories.
Validate her love, her pain, her grief, her journey, his life, his memory.
SAY SOMETHING. SAY ANYTHING. Every. Single. Time.
Tired of her posts about her dead child? I guarantee you she’s more tired of having him dead.
Wish she would move on already? I guarantee you she wishes she knew how to breathe without her eyes welling with tears.
Bored of the same photo cuz, well, been there seen that? I guarantee you she aches over the fact there will be no new photos to share of her precious baby.
The second part of my “Say something. Say anything” advice is this: If you think of a parent’s lost child tell them.
As an angel parent, I can tell you a few of my truths that are relatively universal among other angel parents: we are scared to death of people forgetting about our baby, of ceasing to remember their lives mattered; we are afraid people will stop caring about the life our child lived; we are afraid of people seeing how badly we are still hurting years down the road for fear of judgment or being told to move on; we are trying to be sensitive to your comfort and don’t want to make you sad when we talk about our baby as it’s our own burden to carry, not yours; there is nothing more in this world that we would love to talk about than our precious child that consumes our heart from afar.
Our angel children are our favorite things to talk about… be careful asking to see a photo of Tanner because I’ll show you 100. Yes, there will be tears streaming down my face because I miss him with every ounce of my being, but I will be so grateful to anyone who will entertain conversations or photo onslaughts of my heart child.
A few weeks ago, a sweet old friend I haven’t spoken to in ages texted me to say that she was eating Pad Thai (Tanner’s very favorite food) and thinking of him. There, sitting at my desk at work – and suddenly all over again at my desk at home – there were tears streaming down my cheeks.
Someone thought of my Tanner.
They haven’t forgotten him.
And they cared enough to tell me.
I. Was. (And am.) So. Totally. Grateful.
What? You think it’s a given that you haven’t forgotten our dead kid? There are no givens. (Bonus truth: Grief isn’t rational and sorrow is blinding.)
The mom at the beach mentioned she watches the Emmys every year in honor of her friend’s son who loved the awards show. She’s never mentioned it to his mom as she didn’t want to make her sad. My advice to her was, come next Emmy’s, call her friend and let her know she’s hosting an Emmy watching in honor of her friend’s late son and invite her to come toast the winners with her. I’d bet my favorite cat that this mom would be blown away to know that a friend not only remembers this bit about her son, but honors him every year by watching the show in his memory. What a gift.
For those of you who worry you’ll make us sad by mentioning our angel, here’s your free pass: there is not a single moment that goes by that we don’t think of our babies and miss them with our very broken hearts. You are not reminding us of our loss, you’re sharing with us your presence in our journey.
Yes, there may be tears… but I can bet you there’s probably been tears that day already and there will be more to come. (That day, any day, every day. You get the point.) But behind the tears… There is a gratitude that you remembered our baby and cared enough to tell us. There is comfort in being reminded we aren’t alone in this lifelong journey when you risk sharing in our grief, even if just for a few minutes. There is joy when we are invited to talk about this child that we still love oh so very much.
Also know this: there is no right thing to say. Nothing you can say will make it better. There is nothing you can say that will take away the pain. There is nothing that you can say that will make the hurt less. Don’t wait for the perfect words to come, don’t think eloquence is important. The fact you’re taking time to say anything is all that’s important.
While there is no perfect thing to say, I invite you to skip any and all judgment, advice and cliché platitudes. No, Heaven didn’t need another angel. No, he’s not better off anywhere but with me. No, I will never move on from loving and remembering my child.
Whether it’s been a month, a year, a decade or a lifetime…
Let the people you love know you still love the people they loved.
The first two weeks were a total haze. Wonderful, dear people came and went. Food was delivered. Flowers began filling every corner of my house. I laid on the couch in a state of utter disbelief as the world somehow went on around me.
Having released the weight of guilt I was carrying, I came back ready to start living again. It was a much lower-key version of myself, and I required meds to address the clinical issues, but I was getting back into the swing of a healthy, ordinary life.
Tanner says, “THANK YOU!”
On the Fourth of July, which would have been Tanner’s 18th birthday, we were able to deliver bags and bags of presents for the kids. As you’ll read in their thank you, this will bring countless smiles to the kids and nurses alike
As is our new birthday tradition, we set out 18 flags in the shape of a T on the front lawn. I sat down and the weight descended on me and I just began to cry. My heart broke as I began to think about this landmark year and my son who will not be with us to celebrate. Because of his self-appointing to the age of 18, I had so looked forward to this birthday and making it extra special. Now that it’s here I wish I could turn back time…. or maybe fast-forward through it. I HATE not being able to buy presents for him and watching his face light up.
