No One Knows What to Say

Probably a quarter of the sympathy cards we received say something to the effect of, "there are no words." Anytime we are faced with someone who has had a catastrophic loss, we struggle to know what to say. The loss can be a child, a job, a marriage, an illness, a disappointment, or some other loss, and we do not have adequate words to offer someone. 

We may not have the "right words," but saying something has been a balm for me. That said, the number one most helpful comment for me: I'm so sorry. 

Having someone acknowledge the loss, helps. While visiting my niece, a family friend, who is about five years younger than me, came by to meet my niece. I have not seen her in at least fifteen years. I assumed she knew what happened, but she said in an excited, cheerful voice, "I'd love to hear how you guys are doing and what is new!" I lasted a couple more minutes before retreating upstairs. Although I assumed she knew, she gave no indication and I did not have the energy to either pretend things were okay or to give an honest update. Had she known, the best thing she could have done was say something. I understand that no one knows what to say, but not saying anything made it far more awkward for me. 

My husband and I have agreed that having someone acknowledge the loss, even if it is just a short comment, makes it easier to interact with that person. If I know you know what happened, part of me can relax and just be. Once her death is mentioned, I am able to go on and have conversations about the rest of life. This desire to have her impact acknowledged may not always be as important to me, but this recently after Isabella died, almost everything else seems trivial.

Sometimes people say nothing because they do not want to bring up the pain again. You won't. I never, ever forget that my daughter died. The pain will never go away. You mentioning something opens the door for me to talk about it if I want. Yes, I may cry. Tears are always near the surface these days and sometimes it feels good to let them out. But you are not somehow reminding me she died - I never forgot.

Some of the other most helpful comments have been: 

"I'm so sorry about Isabella. When you have the energy, I would love to hear about her and see photos." 

"I will never forgot how much you loved her."

"I miss her too."

"I was looking forward to __(watching her grow up, introducing her to my child, etc)__."

"I saw ___ and thought about her."

Even when people say things that hurt, we are, almost always, able to see their heart behind it. People have told us, "She's your guardian angel." No, she is not. Angels are being created by God to carry out his will. Psalm 103:20 says, "Praise the Lord, you his angels, you mighty ones who do his bidding, who obey his word.” Angels are not people who died. Not only is there no biblical basis for my daughter being an angel, I do not want her to be my guardian angel. I would much rather have a celestial being created by God to carry out his work protect me than my infant daughter. But, people say this trying to bring comfort. 

The same is true when they say "she was too precious for earth." Not comforting for me, but I appreciate the gesture. 

As I was waiting with a hospital tech for my husband to bring around the car after we were discharged a couple days after Isabella died, the tech tried to find a point of connection, however random. She said, "You had a c-section, right? I had a c-section too. I thought I was going to die!" She launched into the story of her c-section. I asked how old her child is - ten. I said, "That sounds like it was tough." Were her comments helpful? No. But, she was trying. 

Every once in a while there are comments that truly are not helpful. Someone told me that in reincarnation, if someone's previous life was almost perfect, they sometimes come back as an infant for a very short amount of time before moving to Nirvana. Not useful, but I could see they were trying. Someone else said, "God needed her back." No, he did not need her back. He does not need anything from us. Yes, I can still see their hearts, but a simple, "I'm sorry to hear about your daughter," suffices.

Since her death when I've spoken with other people who have lost someone they love, here are some of the things I now do. I ask for the name of the loved one who died, a photo if there is time (and I have the energy), and I tell them I am sorry.