Comfort in Acknowledgement

As we were driving home from preschool yesterday, Caleb told me about a girl in his class.  With joy in his voice he said, "Mommy, do you know what?!  Faith knows my baby brother died!  Can you believe that?"  Then he proceeded to list numerous other classmates who know about Samuel.  I asked him how he found out that Faith knows, and he said, "She told me!"  He was very upbeat about communicating this information to me, and I wondered if he could articulate his emotion.  So, I asked, "How did you feel when Faith told you that she knows about Samuel?"  With absolute glee, he said, "I felt HAPPY!"  Caleb's joy touched me because that this is how I feel, too, when people talk to me about Samuel.

I have been thinking about this for a long while, but Caleb's story helped me to see that my feelings are probably not isolated just to me.  Perhaps these particular feelings in grief are more universal than I thought.  Truthfully, when I think of people I know who have faced the death of a loved one, they always seem to appreciate when someone talks about the person who has died.  My mother-in-law, Kathy, loves when we talk about Bryan's dad, Charlie.  My mom and aunts enjoy talking about their parents.  All of us who have lost someone close to us carry that person's memory constantly.  The memories can begin to feel weighty if we think we're the only ones shouldering them.  But when we have someone to share them with, to relive them with, to acknowledge them with, it lightens the load and helps the memories be beautiful again instead of burdensome. 

I realize that people have no idea what to say to us and how to approach us in this season.  I can imagine that the thought of running into me or Bryan is scary -- "What will I say? What should I do? How should I act? Do I mention Samuel or not? What if I say the wrong thing? What if they weren't thinking about Samuel, and then I bring him up, and they feel sad all over again? What if I make them cry?"  The questions are legitimate.  And there is no right thing to say to us.  No one can say anything to make it all better.  But it does bless me every time someone does say something.

Having been back in some social settings now, I can tell you that I appreciate every interaction where people acknowledge Samuel and our loss.  It is validating somehow, and it makes it much easier for me to then engage in conversations about other things.  Almost every mention of Samuel brings tears to my eyes, and I know that can be uncomfortable for whomever is talking to me, but the tears are healing, and they enable me to then sincerely talk about life beyond Samuel instead of trying to force my memories aside, leap over this enormous hurdle of my pain, and then discuss whatever is happening in my friends' lives.  Samuel is never out of my thoughts, so mentioning him will never "take me by surprise" and remind me of my pain.  I am infinitely aware of my pain.  But bringing him up and bringing up our sorrow makes me feel known and cared for.  It makes me feel more real about talking about other things; it makes the interaction more authentic, and honestly, it just takes far less effort to be present in the moment when the true state of our lives has been recognized.

In no way do I write this to criticize those who have not mentioned Samuel.  I assume the best of people we encounter.  I assume each person intends well and is trying to do what would be most helpful.  And sometimes I figure that people don't know our story and haven't said anything simply out of ignorance.  We can hardly blame anyone for their silence on Samuel.  I simply want to process my grief and what has blessed me as I walk through this valley.

And, I want to remember for the future, for those who will face seemingly insurmountable grief, it blesses those who are hurting to know you hurt with them.  It lightens the load of the burdened to acknowledge the weight they are carrying.  It brings joy to the sorrowful to hear a treasured memory of the past.  To speak honestly about the grief and the loss is far more do-able than to pretend an utterly life-altering experience didn't happen.  Though the heartfelt and compassionate mention of the person they love will likely bring tears, each of those tears is a step toward a mended -- though forever changed -- heart.