I’ve been wanting to write this post for several days. Last week I went to a funeral for a friend’s son. He took his very young life. As I hugged her she sadly whispered in my ear, “I guess I’m in the club now,” and so I must “welcome” this woman with a heavy heart into a club that no one should ever have to join.
I left the church feeling horrible. Not solely because of a life lost; not solely because it brought back the loss of my own brother who took his young life. But mostly because I know this mom will be faced with a lifetime of would-haves and should-haves.
She told me she would need me to tell her what I’ve learned. How to cope, I imagine is what she meant. She told me she couldn’t do this. All I could say is “I know. I know.” I couldn’t bring myself to give her any platitudes and certainly not any religious “soothers”. While my friend has a strong Christian faith, there was not a single “He’s in a better place” or “God only takes the good ones” nor “He only gives you what you can handle” phrase that helped me one bit. I could only validate how she felt that moment because at that moment she only needed to be heard and understood.
As I thought about all of this the following day I asked myself “What would I tell someone who has newly joined ‘the club’ ?” Unfortunately I’ve met- and come to love wildly- some of these moms. I’ve read many an online article with the title ‘Things I Wish People Knew about Grief.’ And while some of their bullet points resonate with me there were those that don’t. And besides that, all these articles are written for people hoping to figure out how to be there for the grieving. They never help ME. They only make me say, “If only so-in-so read this.” The bottom line is there are very few articles written for the griever.
So here’s my list, my bullet points, from one grieving mama to another:
- You will cry more than you ever thought a person could. And that’s ok.
- You will sleep all day and be up all night. And that’s ok.
- You will eat everything and eat nothing. And that’s ok.
- You will lose friends but you will gain friends. And that’s ok.
- You will likely go through a time when you have no interest in anything. And that’s ok.
- You will make plans and break them at the last minute. And that’s ok.
- You won’t even pick up the phone when people call. And that’s ok.
- You will likely be angry at God. And that’s ok.
- You will likely be angry at yourself. And that’s ok.
- You will have more meals brought to you than you know what to do with. Don’t make yourself or your kids eat it if you don’t want to. It’s ok.
- You will have people offering to clean your house. Let them. It’s ok.
- You will have people offering to bring you anything they think will make you feel better. You won’t always be ok with company. Tell them to leave it on the doorstep. It’s ok.
- You will feel like you’re never going to stop crying. You won’t. But you will stop crying so hard, so long, and so often (not necessarily all at once.) And it’s ok.
- You will likely be exhausted facing people you know and love in social settings, even church. It can be overwhelming answering everyone’s “how are you? what can I do for you?”. Play hooky. It’s ok.
And despite all these seemingly negative things, it’s ok. They aren’t negative. They are reality. They are life as you- as I- now know it. You are in the painful process of becoming a different person. I can’t tell you what that will look like because I’m me and you’re you. My son is mine and yours is yours. My family has their own brand of crazy. So does yours. We are all snowflakes. And so is our grief. As unique as a snowflake.
So what’s my point in all of this? You don’t have to make excuses or apologize for anything. Let me repeat that and repeat after me: You (I). DON’T HAVE TO. MAKE EXCUSES. OR APOLOGIZE. FOR. ANYTHING. Period. The end.
No, really, it’s the end.
