Nothing in life prepares us for the loss of a child. It is not the natural order of things. Every culture, every race, every tribe has their own version of the phrase “no mother should bury her son” or “no parent should bury their child” and it is every parent’s worst nightmare.
2020 began in the worst way possible for me and I presume, in fact I know, for many others. A devastating death … of a dearly loved daughter. Not mine but yet the pain I felt even from my detached position as a family friend, standing safely on the sidelines, was undiluted and visceral. Did I say felt? I can still FEEL the acute ache in the pit of my stomach when I woke up, looked at my phone and read four words, “Sara, we’ve lost her … ” I will never forget it.
For days after hearing the tragic news, I walked around in a daze, losing track of time and unsure of what day it was, tearing up in an instant and basically struggling to cope. More than once, I pulled my car off to the side of the road to park because my vision was blurred by tears. I was inconsolable. Frightened, confused. My teenage son was ‘forced’ to exist on a steady diet of takeaway pizza and/or burgers simply because a) I couldn’t function or concentrate long enough to go grocery shopping, let alone cook, and b) the one time I did attempt to make a quick breakfast for him I ended up burning the boiled eggs (something that I would have not only thought impossible but laughable if I had heard it elsewhere).
I was a mess. A complete and utter one. But even in the midst of my grief and confusion, I asked myself over and over again if I am feeling like this how are HER parents feeling? How are THEY going to survive this? I still don’t have the answers and I know I never will because empathy is one thing, shared grief another, even comfort can be communal but the pain of such a deeply personal loss is exactly that … personal.
This week, I have cried more often and I know it is because we are not ready to let her go. Not even close. The finality of what is soon coming to pass is terrifying. Sleep evades me. I forget things. My memory has become unreliable and my once-legendary powers of recollection have abandoned me. Temporarily, I hope. Mundane tasks are a welcome distraction and once dreaded household chores provide soothing respite. But music is my refuge and my panacea. Secular and Christian. Old favourites and new discoveries. I listen to the lyrics and the ones that speak to me are played on repeat. the louder the better!
For now, all I can do is try to be there for my friends. Support and love them. Help occupy their minds with the minutiae of everyday life and for now, at least, that entails assisting in the preparations to send their angel off in the most fitting and beautiful way possible.
I must take a cue from them and I must bear up. I must pray for God to grant them the strength to get through this most difficult of times and I must find ways to numb my own pain. I must not be that person who is “crying more than the bereaved” and above all, I must believe, with all my heart, that she is safe in HIS arms.
In a place where love will never cease. Scripture admonishes us to mourn with those who mourn and I found some peace in these words from a pastor friend and classmate:
“May the Lord continue to bind their broken hearts and give them succour, someway, somehow, in a manner that only HE can.”
AMEN.
