As friends and family you might
find yourself saying, “Help! I want to support my friend, sister,
daughter or son but don’t know what to say or do.” Here is some advice
from your friend, sister, daughter or son….
How you can help….
~Please talk about my baby, even though he is gone. It is more
comforting to cry than to pretend that he never existed. I need to talk
about him, and I need to do it over and over.
~Be patient with my agitation. Nothing feels secure in my world. Get
comfortable with my crying. Sadness hits me in waves, and I never know
when my tears may flow. Just sit with me in silence and hold my hand.
~Don’t abandon me with the excuse that you don’t want to upset me.
You can’t catch my grief. If you don’t know what to say, just come over,
give me a hug or touch my arm, and gently say, “I’m sorry.” You can
even say, “I just don’t know what to say, but I care, and want you to
know that.”
~Just because I look good does not mean that I feel good. Ask me how I feel only if you really have time to find out.
~I am not strong. I’m just numb. When you tell me I am strong, I feel that you don’t see me.
~I will not recover. This is not a cold or the flu. I’m not sick. I’m
grieving and that’s different. Don’t think that I will be over it in a
month or a year. For I am not only grieving my babies death, but also
the person I dreamed they would become. My whole world has crumbled and
I will never be the same.
~I will not always be grieving as intensely, but I will never forget
my baby and rather than recover, I want to incorporate his life and love
into the rest of my life. The baby is a part of me and always will be,
and sometimes I will remember him with joy and other times with a tear.
Both are okay.
~I don’t have to accept the death. Yes, I have to understand that it
has happened and it is real, but there are some things in life that are
just not acceptable.
~When you tell me what I should be doing, then I feel even more lost
and alone. I feel badly enough that my baby is dead, so please don’t
make it worse by telling me I’m not doing this right.
~Please don’t tell me I can have another baby. I’m not ready. Maybe I
don’t want to, or maybe I physically can’t. And besides, what makes
you think people are replaceable? They aren’t. Whoever comes after will
always be someone different.
~Please don’t say, “God has a plan, God’s will.” These have become so
much a part of our language of condolence and an automatic response.
To imply that God has given me this cross to bear and I must do so with a
minimum of fuss, or a maximum of faith, simply puts more strain on me.
~I don’t even understand what you mean when you say, “You’ve got to
get on with your life.” My life is going on, I’ve been forced to take on
many new responsibilities and roles. It may not look the way you think
it should. This will take time and I will never be my old self again. So
please, just love me as I am today, and know that with your love and
support, the joy will slowly return to my life. But I will never forget
and there will always be times that I cry.
~I need to know that you care about me. I need to feel your touch,
your hugs. I need you just to be with me, and I need to be with you. I
need to know you believe in me and in my ability to get through my grief
in my own way, and in my own time.
~Please don’t say, “Call me if you need anything.” I’ll never call
you because I have no idea what I need. Trying to figure out what you
could do for me takes more energy than I have. So, in advance, let me
give you some ideas:
- (a) Bring food or a movie over to watch together.
- (b) Send me a card on special holidays, the due date of my baby, the
anniversary of losing my baby, and be sure to mention the baby and his
name. You can’t make me cry. The tears are here and I will love you for
giving me the opportunity to shed them because someone cared enough
about me to reach out on this difficult day.
- (c) Ask me more than once to join you at a movie or lunch or dinner.
I may say no at first or even for a while, but please don’t give up on
me because somewhere down the line, I may be ready, and if you’ve given
up then I really will be alone.
- (d) Understand how difficult it is for me to be surrounded by
babies, to walk into events without my baby, to go home to a quiet
house, to feel out of place in the same situations where I used to feel
so comfortable.
~Please don’t judge me now – or think that I’m behaving strangely.
Remember I’m grieving. I may even be in shock. I am afraid. I may feel
deep rage. I may even feel guilty. But above all, I hurt. I’m
experiencing a pain unlike any I’ve ever felt before and one that can’t
be imagined by anyone who has not walked in my shoes.
~Don’t worry if you think I’m getting better and then suddenly I seem
to slip backward. Grief makes me behave this way at times. And please
don’t tell me you know how I feel, or that it’s time for me to get on
with my life. What I need now is time to grieve.
~I need touch. A hug, a squeeze of the hand or supportive arm around my shoulder means more than any words you could ever say.
~Most of all thank you for being my friend. Thank you for your
patience. Thank you for caring. Thank you for helping, for
understanding. Thank you for praying for me.
Unfortunate Statements- Please Avoid These
- Don’t cry, be strong.
- I know how you feel.
- You should be over the death of your baby by now.
- Get on with the future.
- It’s probably for the best.
- These things happen.
- You’re not the only one.
- God has a plan.
- Have another baby.
- You’ve changed.
- Don’t be upset.
- Life must go on.
- My friend ….or I know someone who…