I had already written my column for this week when something horrible happened. Somehow that column now seemed ridiculous.
As it turns out, among other important life events honored in the month of October, is Child Death Awareness. At this knowledge, suddenly I became acutely aware of the pain that many people are living with.
Nothing I could write or say could possibly alleviate the distinctive journey of suffering and sorrow that this unique group of people endure twenty-four, seven. I can only try to honor the parents, and families, of their children gone way too soon.
“I don’t know what to say, but I’m here.” Otherwise, I’m truly helpless. Even though many of us want to understand and reach out in love to these parents, we don’t live alongside them in their bubble of grief.
Are you acquainted with grief? If you haven’t felt grief or helplessness in a while, I can testify that losing a loved one who you assumed would “be there” for your lifetime, quickly reacquaints you with that particular pain.
It’s hard to wrap your mind around sudden loss. How many movies or television shows have captured the incomprehension of loss with a line like, “they can’t be gone, I just saw them…”.
Even though we know intellectually that life is temporary, we don’t instantly comprehend emotionally that a loved one could pass without our being prepared somehow in advance. “How can this be?”
It just doesn’t seem the order of things for a child to pass before his or her elders. Therefore, it’s rather incomprehensible for the mind to process.
When sudden death happens, we always remind each other to appreciate our loved ones, hug them a little tighter, look at them a bit longer, and remember what makes them so darn special. Then, far too quickly, the world encroaches and we take for granted that they will be there as usual, living alongside us in the status quo.
Child Death Awareness Month is a helpful reminder, not for grieving parents, who don’t need reminded, but for those of us who love them and loved their child. This month prompts us to remember your child. Know that we will always remember your child and we stand alongside you, some of us from afar, to help you bear this cruel phenomenon.
We will persevere with you for the long haul, and hopefully help you to hang in there. I would that the ache of the loss of your child could be soothed even a bit by the knowledge that the love of so many of your fellow humans reaches out in space, to help you endure this impossible thing.
Back in the day when my spouse was pursuing a doctoral degree and I was wading my way through my bachelor’s and master’s degrees, I learned a powerful word lesson. It was perseverance.
I learned that perseverance is the key to every locked door, even the locked door of grief. It is a master key.
Have you ever prayed for the key that will unlock what you need? I have, and I think I may have received an answer to that prayer that was not what I expected or hoped for.
Sometimes when we pray a beseeching prayer, we expect a miraculous or instant answer. But in the instance of my petition prayer for the key to unlock a solution to my need, I received an answer that involved more waiting, and hanging on a while longer. And neither the word “while” nor “longer” was specifically defined in terms of length of time.
It seems like the purpose of today’s sometimes harsh and unforgiving world, is to keep most of us locked out, locked in, or locked down. And if we don’t possess a “keep on keeping on” attitude, we could easily sink rather than swim, if you’ll allow my mixed metaphors.
Rather than intelligence, genius, or superhero skills, it’s perseverance that sees one through to advanced degrees, keeps you in a job for many years that isn’t always fun or satisfying, in a good marriage that hits hard times, or through unimaginable sorrow. Perseverance clears rocky paths more cleanly than does anger or fear.
Perseverance is about endurance. Can I hang in there and push through, infinitely? Can I do this even when everything in me screams, “I can’t?” Grief is a marathon, not a sprint.
Have you ever said, “enough, I’ve had enough. I’m done?” Then, somehow you mustered the fortitude to step over or maybe crawl over the the latest barrage of fresh sorrow.
The 1970s song written by Ron Davies, comes to mind, It Ain’t Easy. “It ain’t easy to go ahead when you’re going down.” A 1950s era cliché describing my very determined generation, pops into mind, “when the going gets tough, the tough get going”
A more contemporary take on this classic, is “when the going gets tough, the tough go shopping… make cookies… take a nap,” etc. I think this take on navigating grief is more forgiving and aware of new knowledge in mental health. This perspective allows one to sit with the pain for a moment before you pick yourself up and get on with your life.
I think the contemporary wisdom on persevering through grief gives one permission to take a nap when you need a nap. You don’t have to soldier through this monumentally difficult time. If you need to buy something that gives you a moment of comfort, buy it. If you need a cookie or a whole box of them, eat them.
But eventually, when the time seems right, keep on keeping on. Know that perseverance is as simple as putting one foot in front of the other, taking one step at a time, again and again and again; and remembering that a whole slew of quiet but caring people, are also acquainted with grief.