Over the last month I have joined a couple of Facebook groups intended for parents who have lost a child. There are so many of us. Our group grows daily. Everyone has a story. Some lost babies, some have lost grown children. Some lost their child suddenly, others lost their child to a long illness. Everyone is different, but we are all the same. We all have the same aching arms and broken heart.
I think of these people all the time. There is one lady in particular that really touched my heart. She lost her thirteen year old son in his sleep one night. He prayed the rosary with his dad before bed and just didn't wake up the next morning. The autopsy results revealed nothing, claiming he died of natural causes. I think of this woman and her family and pray for them often. To me, her grief seems unimaginable. Losing her son the way she did, with no answer as to why....how do you get past that?
I find myself comparing my story and my heartache to parents experiencing this same nightmare. I know you are not supposed to compare your grief to the grief of others, but I think its something that we just naturally do.
When we first lost Max, we learned of another couple who lost their baby girl at birth. The father of this baby girl graduated with Aaron and the boys are buried right next to her. I remember questioning...which is worse? Losing my seemingly healthy child at five months, or losing a child at birth? In my mind, I weighed the advantages and disadvantages of each type of loss, never coming to a conclusion. And now that I have lost Madden, I know there isn't an answer. The losses are different, but one is not worse (or easier) than the other.
I think of the parents who have lost their children suddenly in a car accident. There are several local families that have had to deal with this type of tragedy. Sometimes, I feel like I couldn't make it through that...but of course, there was a time when I thought I couldn't make it through the loss of a child at all. So now, I just pray that God doesn't allow me to know this type of pain.
I used to get really upset when people would approach me and say, "I know how you feel." While I am sure there are good intentions behind those words, they just aren't true. My husband, who has been through the exact same tragedies as I, doesn't know how I feel.
I've heard, "I know how you feel, I lost my Grandfather last month." Or..."I know how you feel. I lost two babies too. It was early in pregnancy, but they were still babies." I'm sure all the color drained from my face as I heard these words and bit my tongue. My instinct was to yell..."No! You don't know how I feel! I've lost my Grandfathers! I've had a miscarriage! It's not the same, you don't know how I feel!" But thankfully, I kept my mouth shut.
Please know that I completely understand that it is heartbreaking to lose anyone in your family. And I know a miscarriage is the loss of life, hopes and dreams of a child that is loved at the moment of conception. And through prayer, I have discovered that I was out of line. While no one may know exactly how I feel, grief is universal.
I was talking to Mother Mary in prayer one day. I feel very connected to her. I was telling her all our similarities. We both lost our sinless sons on a Friday, I began to tell her..."Mary, I know how you feel." And immediately, I felt shut down....I heard her say, "no, you don't." So I began to elaborate more, but I heard her say..."unless your son is God, you don't know how I feel." And I realized she was right. Nobody will ever know how she felt. We can identify with her pain, we can find comfort in knowing that we are not alone, but we will never know exactly how she felt.
Just like Mary, our grief is unique to each of us. We can find comfort in each other and hope through Christ.
"It is a solace to the miserable to have a companion in their grief." ~Latin proverb
"Never be afraid of loving the Blessed Virgin too much. You can never love her more than Jesus did." -St. Maximilian Kolbe
We lost our sweet Nicolas Neal in 1986, at 39 wks. He was perfect....6lbs. 8Oz. We did not know for a long time why. I had to call the hospital time after time for a reason....I am totally with you on people not understanding where you are comig from. I am not what you would call a very religious person but i do know that things happen for a reason. Know that things will be okay...focus on your children and husband...they will be your salvation. much love, Coleen
ReplyDeleteEach day when I pray and think of my daughter, I pray for you, Max, Madden, and all the other parents and children who have experienced the same, untimely loss. We are all different but yet, the same, with our aching arms and broken hearts. We are forever changed.
ReplyDeleteI have responded to a few of your blogs. I can completely relate to not wanting to be told that they know how you feel, unlike you I want able to keep quiet..... It had been about 7 months after the loss of my daughter Cheyenne I ran into an old friend at the store and they went right into asking about the baby then came the oh I'm so sorry I didn't know. Well I already did not want to be out in public and I'm not sure how it got there but she said" I know how you must be feeling, but this too shall pass" Now I know she was only thing to be positive and helpful however like you said no one knew how I felt and when when would this pass. I ended up going off on her and running out of the store in tears.
ReplyDeleteI lost Cheyenne October 3,1996 I was only 19 years old. Like you i also don't find comfort in visiting the cemetery. It has been almost 17 years. I still feel the ache in my arms and still wake up crying for her or maybe the life she never had, maybe for the hole in my heart. All I can say is there will be sad days and then days of joy. You are an insperation for me because it took me years to be able to function normally after my loss and you seem to be able to not only function but to help others with their losses aswell. God bless you and your family.