I went to support a friend who recently lost her son.
Well, he couldn’t be more correct: No onewantsto belong to this group.
Often, when we know someone else is experiencing grief, our discomfort keeps us from approaching it head-on.
If you see something that reminds you of my child, tell me.
And when I speak his name or relive memories, relive them with me; don’t shrink away.
If you never met my son, don’t be afraid to ask about him.
One of my greatest joys is talking about him.
Accept that you might’t “fix” us.
Know that there are at least two days a year we need a timeout.
Birthdays are especially hard for us.
Some parents create rituals or have parties while others prefer solitude.
Then there’s the anniversary of the date our child became an angel.
The days leading up to that day can feel like impending doom or like it’s hard to breathe.
We may or may not share with you what’s happening.
This is where the process of remembrance will help.
Realize that we struggle every day with happiness.
I remember going on a family cruise 18 months after Brandon died.
You might observe this when you are with us at a wedding, graduation, or other milestone celebration.
Don’t walk awaywitness it with us and be part of our process.
Accept the fact that our loss might make you uncomfortable.
Our loss is unnatural, out of order; it challenges your sense of safety.
We’ve learned all of this as part of what we’re learning about grief.
We will never forget our child.
And, in fact, our loss is always right under the surface of other emotions, even happiness.
Grief is the pendulum swing of love.
The stronger and deeper the love, the more grief will be created on the other side.
Rise up with us.
