The one thing, that which can cause the most pain imaginable, has happened again.
The losses occur every second around the world. We don’t give it much thought until it happens to us or to someone we know. Then it sits, in the back of our minds, whispering a silent "thank you" to God for sparing our own or begging and pleading for answers.
Some things in life are certain, of this we know. Water is king, fire burns, humans are flawed, and death is inevitable. When it is the death of our own child, however, there is no comfort. There are no words that can make it better.
I’ve seen it. All of you have, whether you realize it or not. It is around you even if acquaintances don’t talk about it. After our miscarriage, a world was opened up to me, a world where women I knew compassionately shared the details of their own experiences. Many of our friends had been through this and were shaken by the impact. They simply had never talked openly about it.
A miscarriage is just a taste, though. A taste of what it feels like for a parent to bury their own offspring. When a child is lost whom you have smelled, kissed, touched, and locked eyes with, it is something that tears a hole through a person’s soul and forever alters them.
My small hometown is grieving, looking for answers and clinging to each other as they try to get through the loss of one of their own. I no longer live there and didn’t know the handsome young man who died earlier this week. I can relate to the shock, though, and remember several other unique and special friends from my own peer group whose lights were extinguished before they could fully catch fire. I remember the town reeling in pain. Generations before me were also forced to say goodbye to young men and women who left them far too early.
Friends and family will get through this and as the years pass, they will sometimes reflect back with a smile, laugh, or tear. They will be fine.
My thoughts are with two people who will not be fine. They will also move on and reflect with those same laughs and tears, but their core will never, ever, fully recover.
You most likely won’t see it outwardly. They will bravely continue their lives, going to work, paying their bills, laughing with friends, and loving their other children. But this is a loss from which one does not recover.
I’ve seen other mothers and fathers who have buried a child and they are never the same. Having never been through this personally, I don’t have the words to explain it and neither, most likely, do they. It is like a seismic shift in the earth, only it is within them and it cannot be measured by science or machines.
As I write this today, it is for this mother and father. They are wounded unalterably.
I can’t speak for every person, and I certainly don’t mean to offend those who do not have children, but I know as certainly as I feel these keys beneath my fingers that I could survive the loss of my deeply loved spouse as well as any other family member or friend. It would be devastating, but the cycle of life doesn’t spare any of us, ever. To lose one of my children, however, would break me in ways that I cannot even begin to fathom. I don’t want to fathom it; and yet, as I think of this mother and father, I cannot avoid it. As I type, my throat is tightening, eyes are watering, and I am having a hard time catching my breath.
There is only this simple message. Be gentle with parents who have suffered this horrifying pain and offer them every ounce of love and care you can muster. We are blessed to be with our children only as long as we get them and that has to be enough. Although being a parent leaves us vulnerable and open to the potential of this devastation, not one of us would trade one second with our kids to avoid it. Appreciate every single moment, every single word, every single look, expression, and movement of your amazing and unique children.
And never, ever, take them for granted.
No comments:
Post a Comment