We’ve all been there. That moment when we hear about a child’s death, and instinctively we recoil, brushing our own child’s hair or planting a kiss on their forehead. The horror is so profound that it prompts a reflexive distancing from the tragedy. We often find ourselves murmuring, “I could never endure that.”
Seven months and fourteen days ago, I became a mother for the first time after an arduous three-day labor. When they placed that 9 ½-pound, red-faced baby on my belly, my entire world narrowed to the sight of that tiny face, a blend of my features and my partner’s. Over the weeks that followed, despite sleepless nights and waves of frustration, my love for my son was unlike anything I had ever known.
So, when my dear friend’s teenage brother passed away recently, I found myself looking at my child and, in a moment of empathy for mothers everywhere, I thought, “I could never survive that.” Almost immediately, I regretted that thought.
You see, my parents have faced this unimaginable loss. When I was just four years old, my sister passed away from SIDS. I grew up witnessing my parents navigate the aftermath of losing a child. I saw them rediscover joy, learn to laugh again, and embrace me and my other sister, who came along four years later. Each Halloween brought a bittersweet mix of celebration and grief as we remembered her, and every June, we gathered to honor her birthday with family gatherings at the park where we planted a tree in her memory.
My parents learned to endure.
As I rock my little one to sleep, my heart aches for their pain, which I can now begin to understand from the perspective of a parent. Instead of declaring that I could never survive such a loss, I feel grateful for their resilience.
When we, as a collective, insist we could never handle such grief, we unintentionally diminish the experiences of those who have survived. What does it imply about them? That their survival was unchosen, a badge they would trade in an instant. No parent wants to outlive their child, and those who do wish with all their hearts that circumstances were different.
These parents are not inherently stronger than the rest of us; they do not possess some mystical quality. Their love for their lost child is just as profound as my love for mine. They woke each day unsure how to continue, and at night, they lay down with the weight of that uncertainty still heavy upon them.
It’s human nature to shy away from painful thoughts and stories, and while there’s nothing wrong with hoping for good fortune or offering a prayer, the next time you find yourself on the verge of uttering that familiar mantra, pause. It can serve as an unintentional slight to grieving parents, suggesting their love is somehow lesser, while imposing guilt for their survival.
While her grief may feel overwhelming, her situation is unique. Instead of distancing yourself, extend empathy and offer your love. She needs it more than you can imagine.
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In summary, the next time you feel compelled to declare that you could never endure the loss of a child, reconsider. It’s essential to acknowledge the strength of those who have faced such profound grief and to offer them empathy and support, rather than distance.